


Exceeding the Prediction Horizon

by Tasyfa



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Gay Character, Canonical Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alex Manes, POV Floating, POV Michael Guerin, do not copy to other sites, mention of other characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasyfa/pseuds/Tasyfa
Summary: What if, that day in the toolshed, Alex has a gun? And what if, when Jesse swings the hammer, Alex fires?What if it all goes wrong and Alex is convicted of murder? And what if, ten years later, he's been granted parole and he's back in Roswell?What then?
Relationships: Alex Manes & Walt Sanders, Michael Guerin & Nora Truman, Michael Guerin & Walt Sanders, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 198
Kudos: 152





	1. Cast Me Gently Into Morning, for the Night Has Been Unkind

**Author's Note:**

> So a while back, JoCarthage put forth the what-if of Alex having been inaccessible for a decade because he was in jail, not the Air Force. And Jo, myself, aokayinspace, eir, lambourngb, beck, and aewriting had a lively discussion about the possibilities. The idea caught my muse and about two hours later, I started writing. And now, I'm ready to start sharing!
> 
> I have written farther ahead than this but I'm going to space out my updates so I can *stay* ahead. Profuse thanks to mythras_fire for the beta services. <3
> 
> Please note: this is not going to be a deep dive examination of the American carceral system. Yes, I've done research, but that isn't the point nor the focus here. It's me, so it is a story about people and relationships.
> 
> I'll provide any necessary content warnings in the header of the relevant chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> ~ Tas

Early morning sun flooded the junkyard as they came down the long driveway, the scrap metal on either side glinting in fleeting golden sparks seen only out of the corner of the eye. It was quiet yet, even though Alex had rolled the window down partway, letting the crisp desert air fill his lungs. He'd missed this, the smell of it, the tang and sagebrush and dust and _home_ of it. Oh, he'd had his allotted time outdoors, working out in the yard, but in prison you couldn't stick your hand out an open window. No such creature existed. 

The car rolled to a stop and its occupants sat silently for a moment, before Jim said, "I'd best get back to the station." 

"Thanks again, Sheriff." Alex regarded him without moving his head, relying on his deliberately developed awareness of the most minute details in his peripheral vision. A skill that had kept him safe on numerous occasions both before and after his incarceration. "I appreciate the help." 

"It's the least I could..." he trailed off with a guilty flinch when Alex looked directly at him, one sardonic eyebrow raised. 

"Yes." He didn't soften it. 

Jim swallowed and nodded, and Alex got out of the car, hefting the duffel bag over his shoulder. He'd given Jim Valenti a little information so he could obtain some basics for Alex as part of the parole preparation - non-standard, Alex knew, but as he'd now reconfirmed, guilt could be a powerful motivator. 

Jim had asked for sizes. He'd received measurements because Alex didn't know; he'd never worn regular men's clothes as an adult. He'd been an average sized seventeen year old when arrested, a slightly skinnier eighteen year old when convicted, and he'd been wearing state provided jumpsuits ever since. 

This was the first time Alex had worn jeans since that day. 

He watched Jim put the car in gear and turn a wide, sweeping half circle, the dust settling back onto the ground as he drove off. Leaving Alex alone. 

It felt surreal, and if he were honest with himself, more than a little scary after so many years stuffed into a cell block with a bunch of other men and zero privacy. Even living in a single occupant cell hadn't appreciably lessened the sense of being mired in a crowd.

Wide open spaces and fresh air were remnants of his youth, the memories long smothered. They surfaced now, crowding out the fear with familiarity, and Alex took several deep breaths, revelling in the freedom to do so. 

Feeling steadier, he checked the hang of the bag on his shoulder then strode towards the small building that housed the office, listening to the way the new denim creaked as he moved, the fabric not yet relaxed from wear. He was looking forward to the day the jeans were silent, moulded loosely to his shape and comfortably creased. Even more than the jeans themselves, having something so ordinary to anticipate brought the hint of a smile as Alex knocked firmly on the door. 

"It's open!" came the bellow and he stepped inside, finding a reception room of sorts. It boasted a couple of chairs that had seen better days flanking a small table, on which rested a coffee machine and a tray with mugs, spoons, and a glass jar of sugar cubes with tongs. It was oddly domestic, old-fashioned without being fussy, and it made the rough and tumble junkyard seem more welcoming. 

Beyond the chairs were two doors, both ajar. The closer one had a wheelchair accessible bathroom sign on it, and that was a concern allayed that he hadn't even thought about. The couple of times Alex had been dragged here as a kid while his father's car got whatever done to it, he'd stayed outside and out of the way. 

Of course, he hadn't known the first thing about cars back then, nor had he been interested in learning. Funny how extreme boredom and the desire to gain a useful skill changed a person's perception. 

The second door swung wider and a tanned, weathered arm beckoned him. "Come on in here, kid." 

"Not a kid anymore," Alex observed without heat as he entered the back room and glanced around. This was obviously the office proper, with an old computer on the desk, and a cash register. A bar fridge sat tucked under the shelves holding three-ring binders, presumably the business records. 

"Not with arms like that, you ain't," Sanders chuckled, and Alex finally looked at him, surprised by how old he was. His memory hadn't been able to supply him with a clear image, and while everyone had called him Old Man Sanders when Alex was in high school, that didn't mean he'd actually been old. "But you're nearly thirty and I'm nearly eighty, so I'll call you a kid if I want to." 

That startled a laugh from Alex. "That's fair." It wasn't disrespectful, and he found the bluntness reassuring. He was keenly aware he'd need to learn all new social cues and having a boss who spoke his mind unvarnished would be a help. "I appreciate you taking me on like this." 

He waved a dismissive hand. "You can put your bag in the corner there. Now, Jim Valenti gave me a photocopy of your paperwork, so I've got that, and I've got one of my guys comin' in to put you through your paces today, show you how this place gets run, see if you got any training gaps." 

"Sounds good." Briefly he wondered about the arrangement, but between Sanders's age and him already being down an eye, it was probably a lot easier to fob Alex off onto someone Sanders trusted. "My understanding is that there's some kind of accommodation for me." Fuck, he hoped it wasn't the tiny two-seater in this office. Hopefully Sanders viewing him as young didn't mean he thought Alex could sleep on a loveseat. 

"Oh, yeah. Come here, look out the window here," he gestured Alex behind the desk, until they were both peering out the dirty glass at the silver gleam of an Airstream. 

"The trailer," Alex identified his new home. He kept the censure out of his voice; he had no room to be upset that this was his life now. Working as a mechanic and living onsite at the junkyard in a fucking trailer. 

Maybe it bore no resemblance to the dreams he'd once had. But the Airstream would have a door with a lock he controlled, the basic amenities he would need without him having to beg for them, and windows where he could view that big, beautiful New Mexico sky any time he wanted. None of that sucked. 

"Yep. She's a beauty, fully restored and upgraded a bit, too. Water and electric are hooked up already so with the fridge cold, I took the liberty of puttin' some stuff in there so's you had something to eat. Speaking of fridges." He let the blinds fall into place and meandered over to the bar fridge, pulling it open to show Alex its contents: a plastic box with individual coffee creamers, a small carton of milk, and rows of bottled water. "Don’t be stingy about stayin' hydrated." 

"I'll take one now, if you don't mind," Alex smiled, relieved he wasn't going to be expected to work under the desert sun without getting water regularly. 

"Good call," Sanders winked, and it was funny how strange it looked with his single eye. He passed over a bottle and Alex cracked it open, taking a long swallow as Sanders rummaged through a desk drawer. Triumphantly, he held up a set of keys. "These are for the Airstream, and these are for this here building, so you can let yourself in and get set up for the day. You'll be shown how to do all that, but here's all the keys you'll need. And," he paused, ensuring he had Alex's full attention, "you can take all the fellas you like to the Airstream, but nobody in the office, capeesh? Customers wait in here when the weather's shit and I don't want it smelling like sex." 

It shouldn't have been such a shock. His sexuality had been splashed all over the trial - hell, he'd ultimately lost because even if he'd told the whole truth, there would have been no way to prove a hate crime had taken place, with Michael's hand seemingly untouched. Put the reported absence of a second person with the bullet holes located in Jesse Manes's back and even Alex had had to concede that it had looked suspicious as fuck, if only to himself.

Aloud, he assured, "Not a problem." It was an easy promise to make, because Alex had no intention of bringing anyone anywhere for that purpose. Sex had been a constant topic of conversation by the other guys and he'd avoided it as much as possible. He had nothing to say about pussy, good or bad. And for the first couple of years, he'd had a kind of protection simply for being someone who'd killed his abuser. Inmate culture didn't like child abuse. By the time that protection had faded, with people being shuffled around and his story forgotten, Alex had known how to defend himself. 

He refocused as Sanders said, "Good. And maybe try not to hook up with someone who'd use your keys to clean out the office." 

After what he'd just been thinking about, the comment pierced the careful façade and Alex sneered, "Most people would assume I'd be the one doing that." 

Sanders nodded, a calculating expression on the seams of his face. "Maybe so, round these parts. I ain't most people." 

Alex inclined his head in acknowledgement, his anger retreating into its steady low burn, and it seemed to be enough. 

The outer door clattered open to admit a gust of air and an indefinable energy. The culprit yelled, "Hey, old man, no coffee for the new guy? What kind of shithole you running here?" The tone was a mismatch, exasperated affection rather than anger, and a little familiar. 

It occurred to Alex that it was possibly someone he'd gone to high school with. Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants? Roswell being Roswell, the odds were pretty good. Nobody ever really got out of this fucking town. Look at him: locked up for ten years and now he was going to be living a few miles from his childhood house. Never his home, his father had seen to that, but he'd lived there nearly eighteen years so it still counted. 

"Sanders, when is - ah. Sorry about that," the tone changed again, apologetic now, and much, much closer, directly behind him. Something about its proximity - _his_ proximity - started to form a ball of anxiety in Alex's middle and he forced himself to continue to breathe easily, remain stoic. "You're early. Which means he probably loves you." 

A laugh stuttered from Alex and he spoke as he turned to face the newcomer, "Yeah, I got dropped off," swallowing the end of the final word as he confronted Michael Guerin for the first time in several years. "Guerin?" 

His one-time lover looked good. He'd filled out - finished growing, same as Alex had - and his jaw had sharpened, the strong lines currently softened with dark stubble. Hair still a mess of curls, a little on the long side like he'd been too busy to get it cut, the spirals catching sunlight. One stubborn lock hung over his eye and Alex remembered sitting in class, wanting to tug on it so badly and watch it fall back into place. He'd known it would; he'd seen Michael try to brush it away often enough. 

For his part, Michael thought he might have stopped breathing. He'd definitely noticed the guy upon entering the room - he was gorgeous, at least from behind; broad shoulders leading to wickedly defined arms, a round, eminently grabbable ass - but he hadn't gotten farther than that before the rotation put the man's face in full view and _his_ sharp inhale took all of Michael's air. "A-Alex?" the first syllable cracking. 

This wasn't the same person Michael had last seen all those years ago. This was a grown man who could probably bench press Michael, black T-shirt fabric stretched taut over a muscled torso. A thin, jagged scar marred the surface of his forehead, its injury long healed but visible beneath the short bangs. There was no sign of the soft spikes he remembered, just thick dark hair cut fairly short and combed smooth, over a clean shaven, unsmiling face. 

Alex's first impulse at the visual inspection was to cross his arms, so he did. He knew full well it was a protective posture, closed down body language, and it would send a 'stay away' message. He'd been avoiding that, trying to keep it as professional as he knew how with Sanders, but seeing Michael knocked the wind out of him and made him feel a need for additional barriers. 

He also clocked the way Michael's gaze followed his arms crossing, and hated the little voice that noted the reaction as potential leverage. No hint of that was in his voice, though. "Yeah. I'm the new guy." 

"You're," was all Michael could get out at first. Alive. Here. Healthy. Beautiful. And kind of intimidating, actually. None of which he could say, so he settled on, "I knew you were potentially eligible for parole at the ten year mark, but I didn't know if you... nobody told me." He glared pointedly at Sanders, who shrugged and walked around the desk, holding out some keys for Alex. 

"Here, kid. You two can figure out how you wanna do this; I'm gonna get a coffee now it's perking." 

Alex took the keys, holding onto them for a moment before he recalled the existence of pockets, and in they went before he refolded his arms. "I didn't know you still worked here." He wanted to know what had happened to university, the classes Michael had been so excited about, but he didn't want to ask the question. He had no right to the answer. 

"Part time. Sort of. I guess on call might describe it best?" Michael huffed a laugh. "Basically I come in when Sanders needs me for something. It's more often to do the books these days - his good eye isn't that great anymore." 

"Makes sense." It also spoke of a relationship that went beyond employer and employee, and that, Alex was curious about. "You fit it around your day job." 

"Something like that, yeah," Michael agreed, unable to get a read on Alex at all. "My research keeps me pretty busy at times but the hours are flexible." 

"Research," Alex echoed, tilting his head quizzically. 

Michael brightened at the sign of interest. Maybe hearing about his plants would help Alex unthaw or whatever. "For my PhD in Plant and Environmental Sciences. I'm doing my growing here, so I'm back living here, and I drive up to NMSU in Las Cruces a couple times a month to meet with my thesis advisor. My data is all input electronically anyway, so it's more about checking in." 

"You got your Masters, too." Relief and the foreign sensation of joy swept through Alex. It went some way towards helping him feel like it had been worth it, knowing Michael had achieved two degrees with a third in progress. It meant there had been a point to everything Alex had been through, and the reality of it allowed his shoulders to relax, his stance to loosen. "Congratulations." 

"Thank you." As slight as the reaction was, nevertheless Michael noticed it. He didn't get a chance to say more, though, as Sanders came up behind him. 

"You didn't mention the cookies." 

Michael pivoted so he could see both men, shooting Sanders a sour look. "They aren't for you. Nora made them for the new guy," he gestured towards Alex. 

"What for?" 

"Because she's nice like that, you crusty old man." 

Despite himself, Alex found his gaze dropping to Michael's left hand, wondering if Nora was his wife. It was bare, and unblemished, save for what looked like grass stains. A literal green thumb. The corners of his mouth twitched. 

A little too transparently, he discovered as he raised his eyes to twin regards. "Thank Nora for me." _Who is she?_ went unspoken but was obviously understood as Michael opened his mouth, glancing first at Sanders and then into the room behind him, as if checking there was no one else there. Who was this woman? 

"Nora is," Michael hesitated, knowing this would open Pandora's box for Alex. There was so much he didn't know, so much that had been set into motion with Jesse Manes's death, none of which Michael would have been able to share at a prison visit even if Alex hadn't refused to receive him anymore. But he deserved to know, right? That his instinct to protect Michael had been the key to dismantling a legacy Alex had not known existed and would never have wanted? 

Sanders snorted. "Miss Nora's his mom." Michael glared at him - again - and he shrugged. "We ain't got all day." 

"You found your mom? From," here Alex halted, unclear on what was safe to say, gaze travelling back and forth between the two men. He went with, "From before?" 

"From my, uh, my home planet. Yes." Alex noted the verbal stumble. There might be more people in the know nowadays but Michael was obviously still very careful. "I call her Nora because - because to the general public, she's my grandmother. She wasn't in stasis when I was." And the vagueness about her location told him Michael wasn't ready to disclose where she'd been, and might not be for a while. Alex had forgotten nothing about the quick, hushed revelation of the pods and Michael's true origins, data he'd turned over and over in his head on sleepless nights. 

Information he'd chosen to protect because of the absolute terror in Michael's eyes about what could happen if the truth got out. That, even more than the powers demonstration, was what had convinced Alex it was real. 

Throwing the three aliens to the wolves would almost certainly have let Alex walk, but he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. Better to take his chances with the justice system. Some days, he wasn't even sure it had failed him. 

"Grandmother works better if she's got fifty plus years on you." 

"Exactly." It unnerved Michael almost, how calm Alex seemed. He would chalk it up to merely excellent armour but Alex had been eerily calm when Michael had originally told him aliens were real, too. Fifteen minutes of snatched privacy, the lack of functional recording devices ensured by telekinesis, for Michael to explain his perfectly good hand and beg Alex to keep the secret. 

Michael had been in the courtroom throughout the trial, and he would never forget the day Alex took the stand. Max and Isobel had been primed to run, waiting on Michael's text, which he'd already drafted in the expectation he'd have almost no time to send it before getting dragged away in cuffs, a willing sacrifice despite the Evans twins' dislike of the plan. And then Alex had testified, giving the same sequence of events he'd said he would when he'd stood over his father's fallen body in the toolshed, and told Michael to run. 

"When did you find out?" Alex addressed Sanders, the question seeming to break Michael out of his thoughts. He wondered if Michael was having trouble keeping his mind on the present day, too. Seeing him after all these years... it stirred feelings Alex wasn't sure he wanted in this new life. 

"Oh, I was a kid round these parts. Miss Nora and Miss Louise ended up on our farm, runnin' away from the crash, and we helped them out. More'n a year later, fate caught up. There was a fire. Miss Nora made me run. I got hurt," he pointed to the eye patch, "and by the time I'd gotten medical assistance, word was, everyone died in the fire." 

Alex stared at him. "And you were what, ten?" 

"Nine by then, yep." 

"That fucking sucks." At least Alex had been an adult by the time he'd lost body parts. Not information he wanted to share, though, if he didn't have to. Although Sanders knew, because Jim had told him, to facilitate getting the accommodations Alex would need.

"I don't recommend it," Sanders smirked. 

Michael glanced at the hand on his shoulder as Sanders squeezed then let go. "We should get started. It's Mrs. Wilson's sedan first, right?" 

Sanders nodded. "It is. I'm gonna leave you boys to it and I'll be back this afternoon sometime."

He left, and in the suddenness of just the two of them, Michael blurted, "Do you want coffee?"

Alex shook his head. "I'm fine with water, thanks. But I'll take a cookie." Homemade baked goods were a distant memory of other people’s parents and childhood friends. 

"They're for you, so have as many as you want." 

"Thanks." He stood there, chewing reflectively, wondering if today could get any stranger. Did it matter, though? He was out, had a job and a place to live, a little bit of responsibility from a man who seemed inclined to trust him, and chocolate chip cookies. And it was good to know that Michael had continued his studies. One of them should have had the chance to do something with his life. 

Michael poured a mug and ducked into the inner office to grab creamer, relieved at the familiarity of that much. A favour had turned into something else entirely - something for which Michael would really have appreciated some fucking warning, so he wasn't all muddle-headed and wrong-footed while he was supposed to be showing the ropes to a man who bore little resemblance to the Alex Manes he'd known and loved, even if he'd never said those words. Michael had long since reconciled his teenage emotions in his head. He'd had to, after he'd been barred from visiting Alex anymore. 

But this guy? Michael didn't know this guy. He might as well be the stranger Sanders had implied he'd hired. So maybe that was the best approach, with Alex seeming to be shielded to a fare-thee-well. Treating him like a stranger. 

He finished stirring his coffee, setting the spoon aside and picking up the mug as Alex withdrew another cookie and closed the container. When Alex straightened, Michael smiled, nodding at the door. "Let's go." 

Today, Michael had a new employee to train, and that was all. 

[end chapter one]


	2. Give Yourself Some Time to Falter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning more like fortnightly, but I had a dentist appointment today so I'm sore and cranky, ergo, posting! Thank you all for the enthusiasm <3
> 
> Content warning: mind the "implied/referenced" tags as each is touched upon to some degree here.  
> ~ Tas

Once the repairs to Mrs. Wilson's car were well underway, Michael managed a good ten minutes of friendly enough silence before he had to ask. "So, uh, the last time we talked, you were looking at your G.E.D. and thinking about doing some college correspondence courses. What made you decide on auto mechanics instead?"

Alex remembered him being talkative in class. Endless questions. Competing with Liz for who shot their hand up first with answers. Liz used to complain Michael had the unfair advantage of much longer arms so he was naturally more visible. Alex couldn't have told her if it had truly been an advantage or not; he hadn't been the teacher, and he'd never watched Liz like he had Michael. He didn't look up as he replied, "They did finally let me sit my G.E.D., so I got that." It had burned, to need the high school equivalency. He'd been arrested with two weeks left of senior year and he'd had decent grades, but the school administration hadn't wanted a convicted murderer on their graduation records. Instead of granting his diploma, they'd expelled him.

Who was he kidding? It still burned.

Alex took a couple of calming breaths and continued gruffly, "Considered law then, obvious why, but decided on psychology. Got that, then figured I needed something more immediately practical. This was an option." One of the few that had been available to him. His exemplary behaviour while studying psych had significantly influenced their decision to allow him into the training for a field that involved physical tools. 

Being a model prisoner hadn't even been that hard. The rules had been clear, invariable, and yeah, some of the guards had been assholes but nobody had taken a personal interest in Alex's compliance. They'd been easy to cope with, after his father. And because it hadn't been personal, Alex had been able to tamp down on his natural urge to rebel; he'd fallen in line, understanding that it was his only hope for eventual freedom.

If nothing else, Jesse Manes had raised a survivor.

"That's great, that you were able to do both," Michael told him, trying to sound supportive and interested instead of fucking thrilled. He'd worried a lot over the years. Whether the reason he'd stopped accepting Michael's visits was because he'd also stopped fighting. He'd known Alex wasn't dead, Jim had promised to inform him in the event of death, but it meant the world to know Alex hadn't given up.

"Kept me busy."

There wasn't much Michael could say to that, really. He had some secondhand knowledge of the kind of boredom incarceration inflicted, from his mother. Her experience would have been far worse than Alex's, on this as well as many other fronts, but it at least gave Michael a clue.

He might need those clues, if he were honest with himself. Alex had never been particularly chatty but he was practically monosyllabic now, with a hell of a poker face. 

Silence stretched long as he watched Alex work, dappled sunlight playing over his form, picking out the flex of muscle as he moved, the growing damp sections of his T-shirt giving off a slight shine. The view engaged Michael's attention enough to eliminate the urge to speak.

The quiet let Alex concentrate on the repairs, but it didn't stop his brain from reminding him of the one time he'd broken his own rule and refused to passively accept his fate. He'd ended up paying for that lapse with his leg. Not for the first time, he wondered if it had been worth it. If he shouldn't have just let Dominguez take what he'd wanted. But instinct had kicked in and he'd gone a little berserk on Dominguez and the other guy, instigating a fight that had ended with Alex getting a shank embedded in his calf.

The memory receded as Alex finished the bit he'd been working on and went to uncouple the hose to check for nicks or obstructions, frowning when it wouldn't budge. "Is there a trick to getting the hose loose?"

"This model is what Sanders would call, persnickety," Michael chuckled, moving closer. "This specific car is even worse. You just need to," and he reached into the car's interior, intending to demonstrate the workaround, fingertips brushing past Alex's arm.

The next thing Michael knew, that arm was banded across his throat and his back was pressed tight to Alex's front, and Alex was squeezing. Michael's hands shot up in a surrender gesture and he forced his body to relax, accept the constriction. "I'm not going to hurt you. It's okay. Not gonna hurt you." He wasn't afraid of Alex, despite his current position; aside from the fact that Michael could overpower him with his mind if he had to, the hold was a defensive one. Michael's best move was to relax and seem as unthreatening as possible.

Alex registered the upright hands first, then how Michael had gone limp against him. He let his grip loosen, easing the pressure across Michael's throat until he could hear unrestricted breathing, but he didn't let go, not immediately. Michael's weight and warmth were comforting. A stray curl tickled under his chin in the breeze, and the scent rising to his nose was familiar and unique, long missed. He nearly pressed a kiss to Michael's scalp before the reaction haze dissipated and Alex gasped, low and quiet, letting his arms drop. "Sorry."

"It's alright." The pitch was higher than Michael normally spoke and Alex grimaced, realising he'd probably scared him. "I'm going to step away now, okay?"

"Yeah." He watched Michael move forward, slow, hands still up, achieving a few feet of space before he let his hands drop to his sides in a controlled glide. It felt like the other side of the junkyard. Maybe it should be, if Alex couldn't manage to control his reflexes.

As soon as he'd unplastered himself, Michael had realised exactly how his body had reacted and mentally cursed. The gap between them wasn't going to hide an erection if he turned around. Under normal circumstances, he might be brazen about it, let Alex know he'd had an effect, but the chokehold seemed like some kind of trauma response and he didn't want to make it worse. So instead he angled sideways just enough to be able to see Alex, ensuring his hand floated near his hip for better concealment, as Alex's tense jaw and hunched shoulders came into view. Michael figured he'd give them both a little recovery room. "We're gonna need to talk about that in a minute but I'm fine, and I'm going to get a water and some cookies. Do you want another bottle?"

"Please." Of course Michael wanted to get farther away. He'd come back, because he'd made a commitment and Michael was the type to take that seriously, but Alex couldn't blame him for taking a few minutes to himself first. 

"Alright. I'll just be a minute." He headed for the office, grateful it was in the opposite direction and feeling like a coward; chased off by his own body as if he were actually a teenager. He leaned on the table with both hands, staring at the coffeemaker, the phantom sensation of Alex's body against his still vivid, all warm muscle and sweat. 

It shouldn't have been so hot, being grabbed like that. It definitely hadn't been intended that way. And the way he'd learned to seem as unthreatening as possible had been anything but fun. But his dick didn't seem to care about any of that.

Michael sighed, trying to shake loose the lingering arousal, and went looking for something to use as a plate.

Alex watched until Michael disappeared indoors then pulled the nearby lawn chair into the scant shade, sinking down onto the sagging webbing with a sigh. Was it better to have fucked up like this with someone he knew? It probably was. Hopefully Michael would let him explain. But explaining meant disclosing his disability, and Alex really hadn't wanted to tell Michael. He'd already been diminished so much from the boy Michael had known.

Sanders knew; Alex assumed that was why the chair had been nearby, because Sanders had known he'd need to sit regularly to give his leg a rest. He'd hoped to keep it between himself and his boss. Michael's presence and his role as Alex's trainer threw a wrench into that.

Hell, maybe that was Michael's role in Alex's life: throwing a wrench into the works.

He sipped at his bottle of water, his first instinct to conserve it, make it last. But Michael was bringing more and Sanders had been crystal clear, so Alex tipped his head back and chugged the rest, the lukewarm liquid soothing the grit in his throat.

_That's so unfair,_ Michael thought involuntarily upon exiting the office and spotting Alex. His eyes were closed, throat bobbing as he swallowed, the arch of his neck pushing his chest forward, solid yet yielding as Michael's body abruptly reminded him. He sighed inwardly. At least he'd taken the precaution of untucking his T-shirt. Michael could live with the top edge of his belt buckle digging into the bare skin of his stomach for the sake of concealing the fact that his dick was acting like he was fourteen again. And he'd learned to control any emotion-fuelled surges in his powers long before he'd learned to affect electricity, so he wasn't going to commit accidental arson, either.

Not wanting to wait and watch like some creep, Michael cleared his throat and offered a smile when Alex opened his eyes. "Trade you a cold one for the empty?"

"Yeah, of course." Alex exchanged bottles with him, the condensation cool on his fingers, and also accepted a napkin-wrapped cookie. "Thanks."

"Welcome." He took it over to the work table, bending to throw it into the barrel under it, then grabbed another lawn chair and set it near Alex. Sitting down, Michael waved at the other barrels. "The plastic recycling one is under the table so nothing blows away. The ones sitting out are for garbage, except any food - that goes in the bin in the office. Sanders doesn't want it attracting animals."

"That's fair," Alex nodded. "Glass still non recyclable here?"

Michael sighed. "Unfortunately, yes, so glass goes in with the garbage. Good memory!"

He shrugged. "I was the only one in the house who cared, so separating everything and dealing with it was one of my chores."

"Evidently the information stuck," he offered with a smile. It got him a brief lip stretch in return. Michael drank some of his water and put the bottle on the ground by his chair leg, unwrapping his cookie. He ate a couple of bites in silence as Alex did the same, then tried another smile as he spoke, "So, about earlier. I'm sorry I triggered you. I stepped in there without checking first and I shouldn't have."

The words took Alex aback and he stared at Michael. "Why are you apologising to me? I'm the one who," he couldn't finish the sentence. The apology was unexpected but so was the phrasing. "What - what do you know about triggers?"

"That they exist, for starters," he began, a wry chuckle escaping. "That people like us who had traumatic childhoods tend to have a whole whack of them. They can be obvious or hidden; logical or not; and sometimes, even if everyone is careful, they will knock you on your ass." He could see Alex's eyebrows climbing and his next laugh was looser. "I didn't study psych but I've spent some time on the couch side of things."

"That's good," the revelation startled Alex into pure honesty. "You're right, therapy can be beneficial for, well, for people like us. That's part of why I studied it. Trying to work through my own shit."

"Yeah, it helped." Helped him continue with his studies when he could barely get out of bed after the person he loved had broken up with him by proxy and cut off all contact. Helped him get to grips with the concept that he wasn't worthless after all, something he'd always struggled with but which felt like it had been proven when Alex hadn't wanted to see him anymore. He'd somehow managed to keep his grades up enough to retain the scholarship and get into grad school, but it had been rough going for a while. Finding Nora had gone a long way towards healing him, too.

But now was not the time to tell Alex any of that, assuming there ever would be a good time. It was probably best left buried.

"I'm glad." Alex spun the cookie in his hands, watching its slow revolutions. "Um, my... earlier, I wasn't expecting you to come that close, but it was actually when you touched me that I - that I reacted."

Michael digested that, his stomach beginning to churn at the implications. He started, "Alex, were you," and stopped, shaking his head. "That's, sorry, it's none of my business." 

"No, it's... I wasn't sexually assaulted. Or, I guess technically, I wasn't raped, it was... an attempt was made," he shrugged, the movement awkward and halting. "I fought like hell, and me and one of the, assailants, landed in the infirmary with injuries. So it didn't happen, but it, yeah." He swallowed. "I need you to ask before you touch me, or get that close again. It should be okay if I have warning."

"I can do that," Michael vowed, the piecemeal story not really doing anything to settle his stomach. "I hope you weren't badly injured."

"Not at the time," he stalled.

"Not at the time? What does that mean?" he asked, and then his blood ran cold as he realised. "Was there retaliation?"

"No," Alex shook his head emphatically. "There probably would have been, but," he paused, took a deep breath, and continued, "I was back in the infirmary a few days later, with... complications. I mean, the wound wasn't even that bad, he'd stabbed the side of my calf so it hit bone and stuck there. I'd gotten worse from my father. But, um, who knows where that shank had been, right? I guess the nurse didn't think about that and didn't clean it thoroughly enough. It went septic. Next thing I knew, I had a tourniquet below my knee and was getting loaded into an ambulance."

"Blood poisoning? Holy shit, that's serious. They got it, though, right, I mean, obviously, because you're alive," the shock had him babbling.

"Oh, they got it, alright. They simply removed the problem," and Alex couldn't help the bitterness flooding his voice as he leaned down and knocked on his right shin, eliciting a hollow metallic sound.

Michael's gaze followed the movement and froze, fixed on the point where hand touched leg. Except it wasn't leg, not flesh and blood leg anyway, and for a long minute, he thought he might be sick. Swallowing against the burst of nausea, he stammered, "Y-You have, you have a prosthetic leg? They amputated?"

"They amputated," Alex confirmed, straightening back up. He noticed how Michael's eyes remained glued to his shin and his face had paled under his tan. He seemed upset, but not in the way Alex had feared; Michael wasn't looking at him like he was some freak. Cautiously, he ventured more details, "The surgeon told me that the lower part of my calf and foot were too far gone by the time I got there, so it was necessary to amputate to save my life. I was under armed guard at the hospital for months while it healed, and while I started to learn to walk on the prosthesis. Once I was more or less mobile, they gave me a self-directed physiotherapy routine and transferred me back to the Pen."

"They just left you without medical support?"

Alex smiled briefly at the tone of outrage. "No, I had regular checkups with a doctor and periodic appointments with a prosthetist. But it wasn't a dedicated thing like at the hospital."

"I guess that makes sense," Michael allowed grudgingly. He was having some trouble wrapping his head around the fact Alex had lost his leg. It didn't seem real. Yet he'd heard that knock echo and it sure as hell wasn't bone Alex's knuckles had rapped. "And you already had access to gym equipment and stuff, so if you knew how to do the exercises, you could get on with them."

"Yeah, basically." He hadn't loved the staring or whispering, but he'd gotten a good foundation of upper body strength while convalescing, and he'd built on that quickly enough to seem not worth the trouble, especially with a detachable metal leg. "I had some medical permissions for extra gym time, and specifically going when it was quiet or empty so the equipment I needed was available."

"Good, that's good. I mean, inasmuch as anything about it is good," he huffed a laugh.

"I'm used to it now," Alex shrugged, displaying a level of indifference he didn't feel. "Work wise, I'll need to take a sit break every so often, but that's the only unusual thing," spoken with a touch of defiance.

Michael heard it, but didn't take the bait. "Nah, I sit down on my breaks, and there's two chairs hanging around so I can annoy Sanders into sitting his ass down sometimes. He's a stubborn old man."

"I thought you said you didn't really work here anymore," he tilted his head quizzically.

"His second mechanic left, I think six weeks ago, so it's down to him and Edgar. Sanders can still do some stuff - he's amazing at body work on the older vehicles, you know, the ones that aren't all plastic and fibreglass - but he can't manage the more detailed repairs anymore, so I've been picking up shifts," he explained. 

"That doesn't interfere with your studies?"

"Not really. If I'd stayed in Las Cruces, I'd have done the TA gig again, so that would have been a real time sink. And, this will take up even less time once you're up and running," Michael winked, smiling. 

The information sent relief through Alex. He'd been wary of accepting a makeshift job, but also hadn't exactly had job offers pouring in; it was good to know there was genuinely a need for a mechanic here. Less of Michael would probably be a good thing, too. Alex had enough to adapt to without also having to constantly deal with the ways in which Michael Guerin challenged his equilibrium. He'd worked hard to achieve some kind of internal balance, and less than twenty-four hours from his release, it was already getting a little wobbly.

Aloud, Alex said, "On that note, do you want to show me how to deal with the hose?"

"Yeah, yeah, let me just finish my cookie." He took the expedient route, cramming the remaining half into his mouth and promptly coughing when he inhaled crumbs, hand over his mouth as a shield. It was worth it, though, for the eye roll and chuckle pulled from Alex. When he'd swallowed the overly large mouthful and chased it with water, he stood up. "What I think might work best is if I put my fingers on the target piece in the car, then you put your fingers over mine. I'll slide mine away slowly. You should be touching the right piece then and I can talk you through how to move it to loosen the hose coupling. Alright?"

"Yeah, sounds good." It would let Alex control the contact, and he realised Michael must have been considering how to account for what he'd just learned while training him. Evidently he thought fast, which tracked with the scholarship and everything. Still, Alex appreciated it. Quietly he said, "Guerin. Thank you."

Michael nodded and flashed him a smile. Then he braced his thighs against the front of the car, reaching in to place his hand, and relaxed there, content to wait for Alex to come to him. It was what he should have done the first time, asked Alex to move aside. But he hadn't, and there was no point getting upset about it after the fact. Besides, that fuck-up had led to a conversation he wouldn't have wanted to miss.

Wetting his lips, Alex moved closer, noting Michael's easy stance and feeling his own breath come easier in sympathetic response. It really wasn't going to be a big deal. Michael wasn't judging him for the lapse. That lent him the strength to lean on the car next to Michael and rest his hand over top of the one already in position. 

It felt unexpectedly intimate, the hairs on the back of Michael's hand against his palm, how warm his skin was. He could smell Michael, this close, and without the interference of being triggered, it surprised Alex, how strongly the sense memory surfaced. Or maybe it was simply a new, perfectly understandable reaction: Michael was hot and Alex was gay. But that didn't feel accurate, either. It was layered, old and new; the scent and feel of a person who'd meant safety and caring for a few precious hours, the tragic aftermath cementing that brief sweetness in his memory and branding it onto his body, a body which had grown and changed even more than Michael's but which recognised the proximity of an attractive man.

Michael had trained several mechanics over the years. He had more patience than Sanders, and he always appreciated the slightly higher hourly rate Sanders paid him for the work. He'd shown people how to do specific tasks by putting their hand on the target piece many times.

He'd never wanted to turn his hand over and link fingers before.

Clearing his throat, he asked Alex, "Ready for me to move?"

_No,_ Alex wanted to say, caught yet in the feel of someone else's skin against his. But he couldn't say that - shouldn't be feeling it - so he nodded, following up with a soft, "Go ahead."

Slow as molasses, Michael pulled away, conscious of the dry glide of Alex's palm along his knuckles, the tiny motion as Alex's fingertips dropped to where his had been sitting, with a sense of something popping into place.

As soon as Alex had plastic under his fingers, he understood. "It's that weird little depression, and the bulging spot beside it, right?" The moulding had a small flaw that he wouldn't have seen without a close examination by flashlight, but under his hand it was clear as day. 

"Yeah, that's it. Do you want to give a try first, and if it doesn't work, I can still talk you through it?"

"I think I've got the idea." He pressed down, manipulating the shape, and used his other hand to try the hose. After a few jiggles to find the right combination of pressure, the hose came loose. "Yes!"

Michael laughed, pleased. "You got it!"

Alex turned enough to smile at him. "Will I need to do the same to reconnect?"

"Good question, it would be logical if you did, which is why it's a no," he smirked at the eye roll. "It behaves when you reconnect the hose. It's just getting the damn thing off that's a pain in the ass."

In another time and place, Alex would at least consider turning that into a dirty joke, but this was his first day at a job he needed, and while Michael wasn't his boss, he was currently in the role of Alex's supervisor. Instead, he grunted, "Good to know, thanks," and proceeded with the checks he'd started like half an hour ago.

Michael moved away, letting Alex get on with it in silence. He didn't feel the same need to fill it, now, after Alex had shared such personal stories; he'd been given the information he'd wanted and then some, the beginnings of a map to Alex's journey to this junkyard. The details, he could learn in time, as Alex wanted to tell him.

For the moment, it was best to focus on the work.

[end chapter two]


	3. Come Pick Me Up Off the Tracks

His memory had not done regular old delivery pepperoni pizza justice, Alex was discovering. He could feel grease drip onto his chin and he didn't give a fuck. Mumbling around a mouthful, he informed Michael, "I hope you know I'm going to eat an obscene amount of this."

"That's why I got the XXL," he chuckled. "If there's anything left, you can just stick the box in the fridge in the Airstream. It should be cold enough now."

Alex stopped chewing momentarily, staring at Michael, then finished off that bite before speaking again. "How do you know about the Airstream fridge?"

He watched Michael tilt his face skyward, looking frustrated. "I swear, if I didn't know that it would upset Nora..." he let it trail off, but Alex could hazard a guess.

"Let me guess, something else Sanders 'forgot' to mention?" 

"Yeah." It was stupid to be nervous to say it. Normally, Michael took a lot of pride in the trailer and the work he'd put into it. But he also knew that for all Alex's family had sucked, their financial situation had had a lot more in common with the Evanses than with Michael's, and he didn't know how much prison would have changed that viewpoint. He remembered the twins' expressions just fine and didn't need a repeat performance. 

Michael sighed, looking at the half-eaten slice in his hand. "I was the one who hooked up the water and electricity, made sure everything was running. Because the trailer is mine."

"Yours?" Alex startled visibly. "But, you're not living in it now, right? I didn't displace you or anything?"

"No, no," he reassured, relieved that Alex wasn't going to be snotty about it. Maybe he'd already moved past that reaction. "No, I share a house with Nora. That's a more recent development, though." He hesitated, unsure if he should make any references to the shed incident (he couldn't think of it as a murder) and aftermath. It felt too soon. He didn't want to overwhelm Alex with everything all at once, but they weren't going to be able to avoid the subject forever, so maybe the ripping bandage approach would be best. "The scholarship covered room and board, but only during term time. Mid-August to mid-December for fall term, and mid-January to mid-May for spring. I needed somewhere to live the other four months of the year. Sanders helped source the Airstream. I mean, it was a mess," he huffed a laugh, "and I slept on his couch with the dog until I got it habitable, and we fashioned a quasi-permanent hookup for it here. The site has a postal address, so you'll be able to use it for mail and ID and whatnot."

"Sanders said it was a beauty," Alex offered as he sifted through the information he'd been given. 

"Did he? Figures he'd say it to somebody else," he snorted.

Alex knew about Michael's struggles in foster care; the stories had emerged in slow pieces over visits and calls, same as Alex's about growing up a Manes. He knew that Michael had aged out of the system the same month Alex had been arrested. He had assumed, though, that Michael had stayed with Max until his first year classes had started, and had lived in Albuquerque since, an hour plus drive from the Penitentiary of New Mexico. Not the over three hour drive from Roswell. "That second summer, you were driving up from Roswell every other Sunday?"

Taking a deep breath, Michael confirmed, "I was, yes. And no, I didn't tell you that."

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"Because the previous summer, when you were being held there pending trial, you worried a lot about me travelling back and forth, and gas money, and all that. So I didn't want you to worry." That was only part of it, though, and Michael's mouth twisted as he added, proud of how even his voice stayed, "I didn't want to give you a reason to reduce my visits; I wanted to see you. But it didn't end up mattering since you cancelled them altogether before the next summer." 

Alex heard the edge of remembered pain and nodded, acknowledging its presence. "I had my reasons, Guerin."

"I'm sure you did." He pursed his lips. "So did I, and they were equally valid. But," summoning a smile, "it's all water under the bridge, right?"

"Yeah," Alex agreed aloud. He didn't know what else to say - he hadn't known at the time, either, and had taken the coward's way out, asking Jim Valenti to convey the change to Michael on his behalf, forcing himself and Michael to go cold turkey. Years of guilt hadn't bestowed the necessary vocabulary on him for a way of explaining that didn't cut even deeper. It was best left alone.

They continued to eat, quiet now but, surprisingly, companionable enough despite the personal territory the conversation had dipped into. When Alex had his fill, he wiped his face and hands with a napkin and ventured, "Shall we put it in the fridge, then?"

"You want me to come with?" 

The surprise in Michael's voice caught at something in Alex, drawing him to extend the invitation, "You can show me where everything is, tell me if there's anything, um, persnickety, was the word, right?"

"Yeah, that's it," he chuckled. It sounded off in Alex's mouth, a relic from another age. Probably did in his own, too, come to think of it. "Okay, I will give you the three minute tour." He didn't know why Alex wanted him to, but he wasn't averse to the notion, exactly. It just felt a little strange.

Michael kept that to himself as they crossed the yard, him with the pizza box and Alex with the keys, standing to the side while Alex unlocked the door. He'd greased the mechanism with WD-40; the Airstream had been sitting unlocked in the barn for a while now, ready for the occasional road trip, and he'd never needed a key, anyway.

The key turned easily and Alex swung the door open, spotting the boot mat just inside the door and the wood-look floor beyond. It was all he saw before he spun around, heart rate kicking up. "Guerin, would you... would you mind knocking?"

"Of course," the reply came automatically but he meant it. He _got_ it. This had been the first door under his control, too. His choice whether to open it. His choice whether to lock it. His choice as to who was allowed inside and when.

His choice as to when he could leave.

Michael stayed beside the stairs, and watched Alex disappear inside, hearing the lock click back into place. He'd give him a minute before knocking.

Alex leaned against the doorframe, absorbing this change in his reality. His knees felt shaky and his chest tight. It was real, in a way it hadn't been until this very moment. He'd slept in the guest bedroom of a pair of cops last night, and spent the day thus far working; it could have been some shiny new assignment, some additional qualification or extended programme or whatever - something still part of the Pen. But it wasn't. This was his space now, wholly and completely separate from the criminal justice system.

It overwhelmed him and he took several deep breaths, fighting the urge to cry. He could do that later, when he wasn't on a lunch break. When Michael wasn't standing outside waiting to come in. 

He forced himself onto a more even emotional keel and stepped into the interior, running a hand over the table at this end of the trailer, noting the two stools tucked underneath. He could sit here and eat. Read. Maybe get a little TV or something, mindless entertainment whenever he felt like it.

The anticipated knock sounded and Alex smiled. He gave the length of the trailer a quick once-over as he turned to get the door; it felt like a decent enough size, with a defined sleeping area and kitchenette, bathroom at the far end. While some people would find it tiny, it was luxurious in comparison to the cell where Alex had spent the last decade.

Alex unlocked the door from the inside and let it bang open, smiling at the man stood on the steps. "Come in."

"Don't mind if I do," Michael returned the smile, seeing a lessening of the tension in Alex's frame, a brightness in his eyes. The change was subtle but very much present and he liked it. "I'll put the pizza away?"

"Yeah, please," he agreed, moving aside.

Upon opening the fridge door, Michael laughed. "Sanders tell you he put stuff in here?"

"He did, though he didn't say what."

Placing the square box on an empty shelf, Michael glanced over the other contents then straightened. "Okay, there's a loaf of bread, plus a pack of the butter that comes in four sticks, a jar of peanut butter, and some kind of jam. Also a small carton of milk, half a dozen bottles of water, and a sixer of beer." He closed the door and pointed to the cupboard above the fridge. "There's a toaster up there. And a rice steamer with the booklet that tells you how long to cook things." At Alex's raised eyebrow, he laughed. "Present from Isobel but it turned out to actually be useful. You can make a lot of stuff in it and it doesn't make the trailer muggy the way boiling water on the burners can."

"Good to know," Alex commented and it was, but it was strange, too, learning the family origins of appliances. He didn't think that was normal between... what? Tenant and landlord? He didn't even know. Other than the fact that nothing about any of this was particularly normal. Maybe life was naturally weird around aliens.

"Did he also," Michael started, opening the freezer door, and grinned. "He did. You've got mac and cheese, fettuccine Alfredo, and spaghetti. And ice cubes, but that was me - that's my test for when it's cold enough to put food in after it's been unplugged for a while." He shut it again. "Looks like he erred on the side of vegetarian and picked stuff he knows I would eat. So if there's anything you hate, I will happily take it off your hands."

"No, I-I like all that." There was enough food to keep him going for a few days while he figured out how to get groceries in. It took a lot of pressure off and Alex rubbed at his sternum, close to overwhelmed again.

Michael caught the movement and could guess at the cause. He elected to ignore it and keep talking, let Alex simply listen. "This top drawer has cutlery in it, but there's also a hidden cutting board. If you pull the drawer out halfway, you can get at the board," and he slotted his fingers into the depression on the underside of the board, tugging it into its full extension, supported by the drawer. "Don't use it for anything real wet, because that can end up making the kind of mess that makes you want to cry. There's a loose cutting board for that. But having this here also gives you a bit more counter space when you need it."

"Useful," and it was. He could see Michael's pride in it, too.

"Yeah. Uh, the upper cupboards have dishes - plates, bowls, mugs are all microwave safe. The wide drawer under the oven has a frying pan and baking sheet, and the cupboard under the cutlery drawer has a coffeemaker and pots, couple other odds and ends like that. Oh," he turned on the tap for a minute. "Sanders put bottles in the fridge, but the tap water is drinkable. The water hookup is an extension of the water supply to the junkyard, which is from the city, so it's all treated and clean. You don't need to ration it, either, outside of any city restrictions in the summer."

"That's the quasi-permanent part you mentioned, right?" It would have been too much to take in if he'd needed to memorise it, but Alex could poke around on his own later. It was nice, though, listening to Michael chatter, letting the words flow over him and remind him that Michael had made a life for himself, exactly as Alex had wanted him to.

"It is. The electricity setup is similar, although there's a backup generator hooked up, too. I can show you how that works later, and how to deal with the waste receptacle for the toilet. Don't need to know it all today."

It was a good reminder, one Alex repeated to himself. He didn't need to know it all today. "Sounds good, thanks."

Michael thought Alex seemed steadier, but he was in the zone now and kept going anyway. "The closet and cupboards across from the bed are empty, except for a few hangers. The drawers in the base of the bed have two more sets of sheets, extra blankets and pillows, and towels."

Alex sat on the edge of the made bed, reaching for the pillow. He put it up to his face and inhaled, obscurely disappointed at the scent. "It all smells fresh."

Seeing Alex on the bed he'd spent years sleeping in made Michael's stomach flipflop. He tried to keep it out of his voice as he spoke, "I should have said that right off. The dishes and that haven't been used since they were last put away so they were fine. The interior was dusty so I cleaned everything, and I don't leave the bedding in here when it's not being used, so that was all washed." He shrugged, both palms up. "I had the windows open for a while to air it, too."

"It's great, Guerin, I mean it. You've done so much. I just, for some reason, I was expecting it to smell like you. Which is weird, I know. I'm sorry." Why he was actually telling Michael that was beyond Alex.

"Like me? I don't get it," he had to admit.

Alex wet his lips, staring at the floor. "You smell like rain, Guerin. I thought, I thought I'd imagined it, or that I'd mixed things up in my memory, because I haven't been in the rain for years; all my exercising was indoors after my leg; but I realised earlier that you still do. Smell like rain. And back then, the toolshed smelled like rain even if you weren't there, so I just, I thought in here might, too." It sounded even stupider out loud but at least he'd explained himself.

It took longer than Michael would have liked for him to regain his voice. Did Alex truly seem disappointed in the lack of his smell? Had to be wishful thinking on his part. "Rain? Really?" He raised his arm, sniffing at his skin. "I can't smell it. I believe you, but I guess it's hard to tell with yourself." He went with a laugh next. "Although spending the day outside when it's sunny like this, we probably will get to smell ourselves by the time we knock off."

"Probably," Alex echoed the laugh. "And we should probably get back to it. But, thank you for the tour, Guerin. I mean it."

"Anytime," he smiled, and led the way outside.

Locking the door and pocketing the keys gave Alex another little thrill. This was his front door now. As they passed it, he pointed at the fire pit. "Does that still work?"

"Should, yeah. There'll be wood around here somewhere you can burn. I can bring some tomorrow if we can't find any."

He nodded, thoughtful. As grateful as he was for everything, it didn't make sense. Jim's assistance over the years was easy to understand, especially since his guilt was constructed on his failure to protect Alex at multiple points over a cascade of events. Michael, he might have chalked up to old times' sake, except it had been abundantly clear that Michael hadn't had the first clue any of this was for Alex until this morning. Sanders was the link that confused him the most. "Guerin, are you my landlord now?"

Michael finished propping up the vehicle hood and paused, considering the question. "Not really? Sanders is renting the Airstream from me and effectively subletting it to you, so whatever arrangements you guys have are between the two of you. I'm not involved in that."

"Why?"

"Why am I not involved?"

"No, I mean - why has Sanders gone to all this trouble for a felon?" It was what he'd wanted to know from the very beginning.

"Oh," and Michael grinned, realising the confusion. "Well, the short answer is that he's about a hundred layers of forty grit sandpaper over pure marshmallow fluff."

The description made Alex laugh. "And the long answer?"

"He told you some of it this morning, about being on the farm with Nora and her friend." Remembering the story softened Michael's smile. "What he didn't say was that the foreman had taken him in after he'd run away from home. His bio dad was cut from the same kind of cloth as yours." He watched Alex blink in surprise. "And, he's part of my family, and he knows the truth."

"I'm not sure why knowing where you're from would affect how he treats me," Alex said doubtfully.

"No, I mean all of the truth. About me, about me and you, about what really happened that you couldn't say in court. All of it."

"Oh." He leaned against the car, needing the support. That had not occurred to him, that Michael would have actually told anyone else. "So he, he knows, he knows I," he couldn't finish it.

Michael spoke softly, "He knows you acted to protect me, and stuck to the story that I'd already left by the time your father showed up, yes."

"Wow." But it did make sense now; what had felt like unexpected (undeserved) largesse was sort of a family thing. Alex could accept that, especially with it being because of Michael, who'd spent so long without any family. It fit. "I appreciate your telling me."

"Oh, Alex," he sighed, "there is a lot I need to tell you. A lot. But not right now. We gotta get this car done."

"Yeah. Um, maybe hold off until tomorrow?" he requested. "It's been kind of, you know." Lesson one from the trailer: he didn't need to know it all today.

Michael nodded, "Fair. There are a couple things I do need to ask you about before I leave today, but the rest can wait."

"Good, thank you." Alex waved at the exposed engine. "Anything persnickety about this one?"

"Nope, she's as ordinary as they come."

"Alright." He got back to work.

Later, crammed onto the small couch in Sanders's office, Alex reflected that it really wasn't designed for two grown men to sit together. The only way to avoid pressing their sides together would be for one of them to sit forward, which wasn't going to be Alex; he needed the full depth of the seat to support his thigh. Apparently it wasn't going to be Michael, either, since he showed no signs of moving. Or even of being aware of their closeness, when it was taking some serious willpower on Alex's part to not turn his head and bury his face in Michael's hair and breathe him in.

He was tired, though, and that had always eroded his impulse control. It hadn't even been that long a workday, what with the frequent breaks and the end coming around the six hour mark, but it seemed like a lifetime since Alex had spent so much time outdoors. He really wasn't accustomed to fresh air and sunshine anymore.

"Starting to get a principal's office vibe here, Sanders. Can we get on with it?" Michael groused. He was unavoidably pressed against Alex, shoulders to hips to knees, and it was beginning to make him cranky. 

"Relax, kid, nobody's in any shit. I wanna know how today went. And I wanna hear from both of you, so we've got full transparency here, starting with Alex."

"Oh, um, yeah, it went alright," he began hesitantly; it had been a long time since his last employee review and he was nervous. "The repairs were pretty standard and I didn't have any trouble, for the most part. Guerin did have to show me the workaround for Mrs. Wilson's car, but once I knew about it, it was fine." 

"You remember where it is?"

"Yes, I'd be able to find it again easily." The circumstances around Michael showing it to him would have seared it into memory anyway, but it really was simple once known.

He grunted. "Good, because you'll be seeing it again, no doubt. Stubborn woman wants this car to last ten years like her last one did. Car ain't made it to seven yet but she'd rather keep fixing it than replace it."

"Good repeat business, I guess."

"That it is. So the repairs went fine. What about the rest?"

Alex glanced sideways at Michael, finding him unperturbed. "Um, good. The cash register is easy to operate, and I remember the cash handling procedures from the UFO Emporium. Nobody used plastic today but Guerin showed me the card machine. I could probably manage it, though I'd still appreciate a demo when it's possible." The cash handling had grated, where it hearkened back to skills he'd learned at sixteen and had hoped to be well beyond by now, but he'd get over it. Alex was finding more social expectations from his childhood still lurking in his psyche than he'd anticipated. He knew it was because he'd been in a kind of limbo for a decade, locked away in a different world with its own fucked up rules. But he would have the space to work on them, now.

"Good. Michael?"

He'd been listening to Alex, though picking up the nerves more from how rigidly Alex was holding himself on the small couch. Maybe he could allay those fears some. Michael had done this oversight thing a few times before and he knew what kind of information Sanders wanted. "It was good, yeah. Started off showing Alex where everything was, tool boxes, jumper cables, price lists, timesheets, and so on. He picked up the correct tools for each repair today. I went over each vehicle when he'd finished; all known repairs were completed and I didn't need to redo anything. He asked questions when he needed to - like with Mrs. Wilson's hose, he tried a couple different ways then asked instead of messing around and maybe damaging something."

"I remember you going over that car to figure it out the first time," Sanders chuckled.

"Oh, fuck, I was ready to set it on fire," grinning at the surprised laugh that pulled from Alex. "Took me over an hour to find that little defect. Anyway, Alex cashed out accurately and set up the float for tomorrow. The deposit bag is all done up and it and the float drawer are in the safe, to which he now knows the combination. And we'll go over the card machine in more detail when someone pays by card."

"Is it usually all cash?" Alex asked. It felt good to hear Michael talk like Alex had done well. He was giving the same facts as Alex had, but without the tentativeness Alex couldn't help feeling on his first day at a new job after ten years without one. And while he'd done plenty of hands-on training getting his qualification, this was the first time actual paying customers had been part of the equation. 

Sanders answered, "It's a mix. I was cash only until this one here," he pointed at Michael, "convinced me to get the card machine a few years ago. People who been comin' here a long time still bring cash mostly, but you'll get your chance with the damn machine."

Alex nodded, not taking the jab at technology personally. He knew his own skills in that area were woefully out of date and he'd grown up surrounded by tech. Maybe he'd ask in a couple of weeks whether he could use the office computer.

"Michael, how long d'ya reckon I'll be paying you supervisor wages?"

"Getting cheap on me already, old man?" Michael laughed. "Seriously, though, I don't expect it to be more than the three day minimum we agreed as standard, and I'll probably be twiddling my thumbs by day three. Maybe a check-in after a couple weeks just to make sure everything is smooth still, on both sides."

"That works. Edgar's back in on Thursday, too, so you can do the introductions and coach them through establishing a rota."

"I can do that." Not his favourite task but he could manage it.

"Great. You can go. I'm gonna keep Alex a little longer."

"Uh, okay," Michael floundered as he stood, looking at Alex, and Sanders scoffed.

"Go wait by the fire pit. I put the wood behind the old school bus. By the time you got it set up for a decent fire, you should have company."

"Then I guess I'll see you in a bit, Alex. G'night, Sanders." Glad of something concrete to do while he waited, Michael exited the office, closing both doors on his way outside.

Now Alex was getting the principal's office vibes, but Sanders's laugh dispelled them. "You look beat, kid."

"I am. A lot more tired than I would have thought."

"Fresh air'll do that. I want you to keep it to six hours max for a week or so, while you get used to it. No sense exhausting yourself."

"Okay," Alex said slowly. That might make money super tight, but it should be doable short-term. "I can do that. Um, Guerin said to take breaks whenever I want, it doesn't matter as long as I mark down my times."

Sanders was nodding. "Yep. That's why you get a page to yourself, so you can clock in and out multiple times a day, whether that's a meal break, smoke break, or a trip into town for personal business. It's an honour system and I expect you to keep track. Within reason, I mean, don't clock out to take a leak."

"Got it," he chuckled. Another indication of trust. Alex hadn't earned it yet but he would.

"How'd you get on with Michael?"

And there it was, the reason for the private chat. "Fine, actually. We, um, we talked some, and I told him about my leg."

"Yours to tell, but it's good he knows. That reminds me, you go in the trailer at all?" He nodded towards the duffel bag still sat in the corner.

"Yeah, Guerin ordered pizza for lunch and we put the leftovers in the fridge. He showed me where the toaster is. Thank you again for all the food." Alex was starting to get flustered again.

"Alright, well, there's one of them plastic folding stools in the shower stall. It's white and the shower's white so you'll have to squint to see it." He sounded aggrieved by the visual difficulty but the fact of the shower aid's presence when Alex had assumed he'd have to make do for a bit, sent such a rush of gratitude through his tired body that he choked back tears.

After clearing his throat, Alex managed a calm enough, "Thank you."

A grunt was his acknowledgement. "The week here runs Thursday to Wednesday. I do payroll on Thursdays and you'll get paid every Friday. Payslip will have your address on it, which," he paused, opening a desk drawer and withdrawing a piece of paper. He handed it to Alex and continued, "That's it there, so you can tell your bank and whoever else."

He looked at the address but it wasn't really sinking in, so he folded it and stuck it in his pocket. The prospect of incoming money, however small an amount for two days' work, prompted Alex to ask about the outgoing. "What about rent, and utilities? We didn't talk about those this morning."

"Mm. Water bill comes in around the twentieth. I called them today to put your name on the second meter. Both outdoors so the meter guy checks them himself. We can decide how we wanna handle that once it shows up. Never did figure out how to split the electric, so no extra charge for that." He frowned. "You might need a space heater in the trailer when it gets cold, though. Michael never did but he's warmer than most."

"And rent? When is that due, and how much is it?" When Sanders merely stared at him, Alex tacked on, "Please tell me." He was beginning to worry he wouldn't be able to cover it.

"Alright. Like I said, water is monthly and we'll talk about it once there's a bill to look at. Other than that, I expect you to keep the place tidy, and to tell me if anything needs doing. Though I'll probably get Michael to do any necessary repairs because that boy will bitch forever if I do them. That's it."

"That's it?" Alex echoed in disbelief. "That can't be it. No rent payments?"

"Don't see the point in collecting it. There's no mortgage on the Airstream, and I've owned the land here since before you were drawing breath. Long as you pay for what you use and take care of the property, I don't need the hassle of anything else," he spoke firmly, the implication clear that any further protests would be shut down immediately.

"Okay." He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that, but he also wasn't in a position to be looking a gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you again, sir."

A truly epic grimace passed over Sanders's face. "Don't 'sir' me, kid. It's just Sanders."

Alex couldn't help but smile at his sour expression. "I'll try to keep it to Sanders. Sorry in advance if the other slips through; it's habit, between my father and cops and guards."

"Noted. Now skedaddle, before you make a liar outta me. It don't take that long to haul wood and build a fire."

"Until tomorrow then, Sanders," he said deliberately; the best way to break a habit was to replace it with a different one. It might get obnoxious to say the man's name all the time but it would hopefully prevent Alex from slipping into the default of sir. 

He stood and went to grab his bag, hoisting it and thinking the world had gotten more complicated in the hours since he'd set it down.

"Tell Michael I gotta run into town so I'll take the night deposit and lock up."

"Will do," Alex smiled, and left, the bag heavy on his shoulder as he went out into the golden light of late afternoon.

[end chapter three]


	4. In the Burning of Uncertainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the many reasons I love my beta mythras_fire is for coining the term "Locked Decade" to refer to Alex's time in the clink. I love that so much. <3  
> ~ Tas

"You want a beer?"

Michael looked up from his phone at the question, taking in Alex with a weirdly straight duffel bag over his shoulder, looking exhausted. "Normally I would, but I think you might drop where you're standing if you drink a beer."

"You could be right," he conceded. "Now that I've stopped working for the day, it's really hitting me."

"I'm not going to keep you long. Maybe put the bag inside, then we can talk for a minute?"

"Yeah, I'll just be a sec." Alex unlocked the Airstream and deposited the bag on the table, simply turning once he'd put it down and exiting again, closing the door but leaving it unlocked as he sank into a chair by Michael. There was a fire laid in the pit ready to be lit and it made him smile. "Sanders said he would close up. Your phone looks pretty fancy."

"It is," he smiled. "Isobel is a new phone junkie so she gives me her castoffs. Perfectly good iPhone. Did Jim get you a cell phone?"

He shook his head. "No, there's some clothes and toiletries in the bag, plus my crutches and other paraphernalia. I hadn't thought as far as a phone yet." Something else new he would have to learn, by the looks of it.

"I'll bring one for you. I'm a little more like Mrs. Wilson, I prefer to hang onto the one phone until it dies on me, so the extras accumulate." He could afford to buy his own nowadays, but Isobel was still going through them and it only made sense to use them. Frugality was a habit Michael had no intention of breaking.

"I'd appreciate that." At least it sounded like Michael wouldn't be going out of his way or anything. Alex was starting to feel as though he were accruing debt to people now, and he would really rather not, despite his gratitude for the help. "What did you want to tell me?"

Straight to it. Fair enough. He would be equally direct. "Two things, kind of interconnected. First, Roswell hasn't gotten any bigger, so news still travels fast, and by Friday the whole town will know you're back. Think about if there's anyone you want to notify yourself. If you give me names tomorrow, I can get phone numbers."

This, he'd expected. "That would be great. I will let you know." It would be a short list, and there wouldn't be any blood relatives on it.

"Good. Okay. The other thing, may affect the first," and there were the nerves, pulling him to a momentary stop. Michael breathed in long and slow, and continued, "Sanders isn't the only one who knows everything. There are a few others. I mean, Max and Isobel, obviously; you knew that. But other people too."

"Who?" he asked bluntly. Finding out about Sanders had been a surprise, especially with how scared Michael had been to tell Alex - or rather, how terrified that Alex would tell someone else once he knew. More people suggested something had happened in the intervening years.

"Uh, Liz and Rosa Ortecho, Maria DeLuca ---"

"Liz and Maria?" Alex repeated incredulously. Rosa was less surprising, if only because he couldn't imagine both the other women managing to keep a major secret from her. But, his closest friends knew? He'd kept in sporadic touch with Maria even after cutting Michael off; her letters had been his only contact with the outside world, besides Jim. Liz had sent a few in the beginning but he hadn't expected it to last, and it hadn't. It just wasn't her.

"Yeah," Michael confirmed, mentally bracing himself for the next reaction. "And, uh, and the Valentis. Jim, Michelle, and Kyle."

" _What_?"

He watched unadulterated shock settle over Alex, impossible to disguise. "I-I know. I know how it sounds. It's complicated, though. Jim has known about aliens for decades. He was involved in kind of a legacy cover-up of the crash. Alongside your father."

Flummoxed beyond all belief, Alex stared at him for long minutes, trying to get the words to make sense. "My father?" Michael's answering nod felt anxious and Alex had to ask, "Did he know about you?"

"No, he hadn't identified the three of us, as far as we could tell," he spoke gently, trying to cushion the information in some way. The hard part was knowing this was the barest beginning of what Alex would need to know.

"Oh, great, so at least it was only a one dimension hate crime, what he did to you." He could hear an edge to his own voice that signalled an erosion of his emotional control but he was too tired and this was too big for him to be able to exert the necessary effort.

"Alex..." At a loss for what else to say, Michael picked his chair up and moved it closer, at an angle allowing him to stretch out his left hand, letting it hover where Alex could see it clearly. "My hand is fine. Max does good work. I mean," he huffed a tiny laugh, "I didn't want him to fix it completely, just take the edge off or something, but I passed out from the pain before I could say that and of course he thought the entire point of me coming to him was to heal the injury."

"I remember." Looking at the smooth skin gave Alex a focus, which helped. He wanted to enclose Michael's hand in his, manipulate the fingers to prove its soundness to his body, which might press the truth into his brain. But he didn't trust himself to touch. Not after how it had affected him earlier.

"You can examine it, if you want. I don't mind." Michael thought that was what Alex's expression might mean; fatigue coated him but he seemed a little less guarded under its veneer, and Michael really didn't mind. It might give Alex some closure. He'd been able to see the hand at prison visits, casually, but there hadn't been any touching.

"Maybe later," Alex refused the offer, forcing his gaze away. "Back to the inner circle, what you're saying is, pretty much everyone in town I have or had some kind of relationship with is part of it. Right down to my fucking high school bully."

The shutout wasn't subtle and Michael dropped his hand. "Pretty much, yeah. Like I said, it's complicated."

"Yeah." Blowing out a breath, Alex shook his head. "I'm sure the story is compelling and all, but not one for tonight." He'd had all the revelations he could handle for the moment. And he should be angry. Hell, if he'd found out about Kyle this morning, he would have exploded, the constant simmer under his skin flaring into an inferno. But it seemed that over the past few hours, with the things he'd learned and the kindnesses he'd been shown, his anger had been banked at its lowest setting and he didn't have the energy to turn it up.

"No," Michael agreed. "I would've held off on this stuff, too, if I didn't think you needed to know." Whether it would make it easier or harder on Alex remained to be seen.

"It's alright, I get it. It's the list of people I don't have to lie to."

"Yeah," a small chuckle escaping.

"If that's it, I'm gonna go shower," he pointed at the Airstream with his thumb.

"That was it," Michael confirmed. "I'll meet you in the office at seven-thirty tomorrow."

"I'll be there." Alex stood up, his leg having stiffened up while seated. He ignored the twinge other than to move more slowly than he might have, and waved a hand. "You know where to find me if I'm not."

"True," Michael chuckled, getting to his feet. As Alex reached the stoop, Michael remembered something. "Oh, one more thing."

Alex halted and half turned, trying not to snap. "What?"

"That big old corded phone by the computer in the office? I don't know if you noticed," he rushed, "but there's a paper taped to it with phone numbers on it - utility companies mostly, but also my cell phone. So if you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

Coming around the rest of the way, Alex looked at him, seeing how the late afternoon sun burnished him gold. Sunrise would look good on Michael, he thought idly, and nodded. "Thanks, Guerin." He didn't expect to need the information, but it was good to have another lifeline, in case. At this point, he'd probably rather call Michael than Jim if it came down to it. The beginning of thinking about what he'd just learned. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Michael echoed, watching until the door closed behind Alex. He didn't need to do the bank run, undoubtedly so he didn't have the opportunity to give Sanders a piece of his mind about all the secrecy bullshit, so direct to the Chevy it was. Michael wanted to talk to Nora, get the swirling thoughts out of his head and into a safe space where he could process them. With a last look at the Airstream, settled back in its original spot like it had never left, he headed home.

Inside the trailer, Alex pulled one of the stools out from under the table and sat down, slumping as soon as the wood supported his weight. He breathed for a few minutes, mustering the energy to untie the work boots and slip them off, setting them on the rubber boot tray in the corner beside the door. Glancing up, he noticed the hook high up on the wall; a place to hang a wet jacket, so it would drip onto the boot tray. Convenient. The junkyard would definitely get muddy in wet weather and this setup would help keep the floor of the Airstream clean.

He stared at the black leather. The work boots weren't the Doc Martens of his youth, but the style was similar enough to make him feel comfortable wearing them, even aside from the safety aspect. In fact, most of what Jim had bought for him was black, rounded out by a couple of flannel shirts and one pale grey button down. For meetings with his parole officer, Jim had said.

The clothes didn't sit the same at twenty-eight, for more reasons than the differences in his adult physique. Alex wasn't a music-obsessed teenager anymore, hopeful about the approaching end of high school or the potential to escape Roswell. He couldn't escape now; this town was his new/old cage, at least until his parole and probation period were both completed. As long as he could keep his head down and keep working, he expected he could get through those; he wasn't considered high risk for re-offending, despite the felony conviction.

It wasn't like he could kill his father again.

Still, the dark fabrics held a certain amount of comfort in their familiarity, a fact Alex pondered as he turned to face the table and began to unpack the duffel bag, laying the clothes in piles by type. Next were the toiletries. Crutches, liners, everything else he placed onto the table, too, until its surface was nearly covered and the bag was empty, ready to be rolled into a small ball.

A decade of incarceration had done nothing to dispel the discipline of a childhood governed by military strictness. As much as Alex would have liked to simply grab the immediately necessary toiletries and a change of clothes and say fuck the rest, he wasn't capable of leaving everything just sitting there. The almost pathological level of tidiness required in the Pen had been old hat for him, and while he might want to learn to soften those internal rules in the future, Alex knew something about picking his battles, and now was definitely not the time.

Instead of fighting the urge, he rolled up the duffel, depositing it in the cupboard above the narrow closet. The shirts went on the hangers; the other clothing in two drawers, with his limb and prosthesis care items in the third. Toothbrush in the wall-mounted holder in the bathroom; toothpaste and shaving supplies in the mirrored cabinet above the sink; hair and body wash in the shower stall. He discovered that the tiny cupboard below the sink already held a few rolls of toilet paper, so he found somewhere else to stash the four-pack Jim had given him.

Alex moved slowly but methodically, letting his brain white out into the routine. It helped bring some calm to his body. It didn't make him genuinely tranquil, but it pulled him back from the edge of overwhelm, and that was probably the best he could hope for tonight.

With his meager belongings organised, Alex finally undressed, laying the jeans over the stool so he could wear them to work again tomorrow. Everything else went in the bottom of the closet, until he figured out a better way to deal with laundry. And then he removed his leg, setting it in a corner near the bed and washing the liner at the kitchen sink, leaving it on the dish rack to dry.

Then, and only then, did Alex start the shower. He got the shower chair wet first to warm up the plastic, then hopped in and sat down, washing himself by rote. Fatigue continued to restrict the speed of his movements and he was grateful all over again for the presence of the chair; as tired as he was, an upright position would have been another level of exhaustion that he didn't need.

Growing up, the shower had been the only safe place to cry after his mother had left. Sitting here now with warm water sluicing over him, Alex felt the tug of emotion; the prickling behind his closed eyelids. But aside from the tail end of his hospital stay, the last shower he'd had completely alone had been the morning of the day he'd been arrested. Inmates on his level didn't have the luxury of private showers and he'd known better than to show anything that could be perceived as weakness. A small sanctuary, washed down the drain.

The bed in his cell had afforded the one sliver of privacy, under the covers with his face pressed to the pillow, and it was this Alex sought once he'd dried off, burrowing into the blankets and letting the tears come, falling thick and fast as he allowed himself this release.

It was as good a way as any to begin processing the past twenty-four hours.

*

As he pulled up to the house, Michael sent his mind wandering, seeking Nora's. He received the impression of the living room and the clack of knitting needles, and headed straight there as soon as he got out of the truck.

He flung himself lengthwise onto the couch beside her, plopping his head in her lap in the certainty that she would put aside her knitting. And Nora did, using her freed hand to begin stroking Michael's hair as she observed, "You are in a tizzy."

"Yeah," he agreed, closing his eyes and letting the soft touch soothe; it was, after all, why he'd positioned himself like this. They both knew it was easier for Michael to ask for things non-verbally.

"You were expecting a pretty regular day, showing the friend of Walt's friend the ropes," she spoke quietly, leaving it open for him to explain or not as he needed.

Michael remained silent for a few minutes, absorbing her nearness and unvoiced concern. It went some way towards restoring his equilibrium and finally he said, "It's Alex, Mom." He didn't call her that often; most of the time, the risk wasn't worth it. They knew who they were to each other. But sometimes, sometimes Michael needed to form the word with his mouth and speak it into the universe, and be reassured that she could hear him.

Her hand paused. "Alex Manes? He is Walt's new employee?"

He wiggled and Nora resumed petting his hair. "Yeah. I didn't even know he was out. Now he's working for Sanders and living in my Airstream." It was all too easy to imagine Alex in the trailer; he'd gotten a glimpse of it today, but Michael also knew the interior like the back of his hand. And it was not a big leap from imagining Alex's presence to imagining being there with him, doing things that Michael had no business thinking about.

"What is it that's upsetting you? That he is out, or that you did not know in advance?"

"The latter," he replied instantly. "I'm thrilled he got paroled. That's huge for him."

"And what would you have done differently if you had known you would be training Alex today?"

That was the question, wasn't it? What would he have done differently? How would he have prepared for it, seeing Alex again? Could he really have fortified himself ahead of time, in some manner that wouldn't have unravelled at the shock of bodily contact, despite its context?

Michael had to admit the answer was no. He sighed, "Very little, if I'm honest. I probably would've left a few more things in the trailer, brought a cell phone for him, but... it's all minutiae, you know? Stuff I can do tomorrow, that isn't harmed in the slightest by a day's delay." His voice grew quiet. "I don't think any amount of advance notice could have made me ready. Not in any meaningful way."

"I expect Walt knew that. And of course there was the possibility that parole would be withdrawn for some reason, too. Until Alex physically left the building, the hope of freedom was a mere illusion, which could have dissolved like a mirage at someone else's whim." The faintest hint of an ache flavoured the words and Michael knew she was thinking of her own release. He reached up to squeeze her arm and she covered his hand. "I am okay, mi nieto."

Spanish didn't sit any stranger on her tongue than English did, a slight accent betraying foreign origins no matter what language she spoke. The endearment was one Nora had learned from Michelle Valenti and though the generation was incorrect, it still felt right to Michael, after growing up hearing the two languages intermingled. It felt like family in a way the English didn't.

"I know," he told her, but he didn't shift away. "And you're right. I can't say it was fun to walk into Sanders's office blind, but I probably would have handled it worse if I'd known Alex was gonna be there. I don't even want to think about how I'd feel if I'd expected him and he hadn't shown."

"So you will go easy on Walt tomorrow, then, right?"

"I'll take it under advisement," he chuckled, grinning when she laughed.

"Did he like the cookies?"

"We all did. I ordered pizza for lunch, gave Alex the leftovers, and Sanders put a few things in the trailer, too."

"Good. How long is Walt going to need you?"

"Just two more days, plus a check-in the end of next week. Turns out Alex is a competent mechanic." It seemed weird to be so pleased about that, when he'd had nothing whatsoever to do with it. "It's kind of like this odd echo of where I was after high school, you know? The Airstream, the job.... Except he got a degree in psychology, too, so it's also like later? I don't know, it just feels like our lives are entwined, or something."

"Do you want your lives entwined?"

"I don't know," Michael repeated. He had a feeling he'd be saying it a lot when it came to Alex. "He was friendly enough today, like he wasn't hostile towards me, but he made it fucking clear before that he didn't want anything to do with me, so I don't, I don't want to inflict myself on him." His throat tightened, lending a rasp to his next words. "I don't want to hope."

"You still care about him," Nora stated gently.

He couldn't dispute that. "Do you ever really get over your first love?"

"Some people do, I am sure, but you are my son." She bent to kiss his forehead. "Our situations are very different, mi nieto, because your father and I grew up in war, and it killed him long before Louise and I fled. But no, my heart has not forgotten him. Or Tripp. We are people who love hard, Michael."

"Yeah." That much, Michael knew about himself. "I think it's better if I stay friends with Alex, though, assuming he wants that much, even. He's got more than enough adjustments to make to civilian life."

"He does, and he is going to need help doing it. Do you think you will be okay? If you keep helping, beyond what you are currently doing for him and Walt?"

His mother had such a pleasant, warm voice, and she asked such devastatingly astute questions. Which was, of course, why Michael told her everything, because he trusted her to support him through the answers. "I would be less okay not helping. I can't deny there's some guilt tangled up in that, but he's a good person and he deserves the chance to move forward with his life."

Nora hummed agreement, then said, "Perhaps it's a fortuitous parallel, Alex being in a place in his life similar to where you were when he entered into the limbo of prison. After all, you have done well for yourself since then. They are good footsteps to follow."

The praise made him smile, warmed by her obvious pride. "Maybe, yeah."

"As you are going to be at the junkyard the next two days, I will bake some more cookies tomorrow, and you can ask Alex to come for dinner after your check-in day."

"Uh, okay." Apparently since he'd said he intended to try to be friends, Nora was going to plough ahead as if it were a given he'd succeed, and though he'd figured she would want to meet Alex, inviting him to the house right off was more than Michael had expected. But he would ask. "Listen, there's something separate I wanted to ask you about. Do I smell like rain to you?"

She went still - not just the hand in his hair, but a full body stillness, and it surprised Michael enough that he sat up and turned to face her, noting her wide eyes, a brighter blue than her head wrap. "Nora? What?"

"Why do you want to know?" she deflected.

He frowned. "Alex mentioned it, and I can't smell myself. We share a house so you should be able to tell."

"What time period did he reference? Just today?"

What a bizarre question. "No, he said something like he was surprised I still smelled like rain because he'd assumed he'd imagined it." Now she looked thoughtful and he prompted, "What? That clearly means something to you."

"It does," she nodded, giving him a small smile. "But you are an agricultural engineer. When someone says, 'I smell rain', what does that really mean?"

Michael couldn't see why that mattered but he responded anyway. "Well, it's not the actual rain - that's just water, and unless there's something wrong with it, like acid rain, it doesn't have a scent per se. What people are smelling is petrichor, when geosmin is released into the air, alongside some plant oils. That's from microbes in the soil, and it's what these tiny lifeforms give off as they receive the influx of water. They basically throw open the proverbial doors and sing hallelujah."

Nora shook her head and laughed. "You do have a way of putting things, mi nieto. But yes. Petrichor is the scent of the acceptance of water, not the water itself."

"Right, and that has to do with me smelling like petrichor why?"

"We - our species - secrete a type of pheromone, which is detectable only to those individuals who are both compatible and emotionally receptive to forming a pair bond," she explained.

"A pair bond? We don't mate for life," he protested. Birds had pair bonds. Not aliens who were part organic tech.

"No, we do not. A pair bond can be broken. Practically speaking, it's a biological mechanism which enhances the emotional connection between two or three people, which in turn strengthens the relationship. But people can drift out of compatibility, same as in a non-bonded pair." Michael noticed how carefully she watched him, alert to all reactions to what she had to know was a bit of a knowledge bomb. He reached out to clasp her nearer hand in both of his.

"I wish you had told me about this before, but I get why you didn't, when it would've been an abstract idea. I haven't even dated much since I moved back to Roswell, let alone had a relationship. But," he swallowed, suddenly nervous, "what do you mean by compatible?"

She shrugged. "Sexually, romantically, spiritually, whatever. Alex is gay, so he would not be compatible with Isobel, for example. Or you might get an asexual pair with a strong romantic attraction. It's simply a pre-selection of someone suited to you specifically. And, likewise, of your suitability to them."

Michael bit his lip. "It sounds like some kind of destiny." He didn't want that for Alex, not after everything it had cost Alex just to know him.

"No, mi nieto," her headshake was sharp; emphatic. "Everyone involved still has free will. It might not always feel like it, with the strength of the pull towards the other person, but it is absolutely there. And if you truly want to walk away for good, you can. That will cancel the emotional receptiveness aspect soon enough."

"Emotionally receptive," he scoffed. "I can't honestly think of a phrase less applicable to the man I met today."

"On the surface, perhaps. You said you still care for him, yes?" Caring for him sounded more intimate than caring about him, but Michael could acknowledge both were true and he nodded. Nora echoed his nod and proclaimed, "If Alex smelled your petrichor as a teenager, and can do so now, too, then he did not stop caring about you, either, no matter how it looks."

"I see your logic, but," he half smiled, rueful, "I can't quite believe it."

"You are a kinetic learner," Nora smiled. "Your body will make sense of it for you. You may wish to hold off on telling Alex anything, though, until he has settled in a bit more. You do not want to overwhelm him and he will be experiencing a lot of high emotion right now."

He couldn't imagine telling Alex about this at all, but he wasn't about to say so. Michael wasn't on especially firm ground himself at the moment; it was a lot to take in, and he already knew the other alien stuff. "Yeah, I'll wait."

"Good. Now, are you hungry yet, or do you need to look in on your plants first?" she asked as she stood up and took a step, giving her feet enough room so she could face him, smiling, waiting for his response.

Michael should check the greenhouse but it was more important to him at this moment to keep Nora close. He'd spent so many years without her and on a day like today, when he'd gone through a bit of a wringer, he needed her.

Rising, he offered his arm to his mother. "Just let me know what you want me to do to help."

[end chapter four]


	5. Night, Lift Up the Shades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mention it before, but I'm trying to keep to posting every other Wednesday. This was A Week, so have a Friday treat instead!  
> ~ Tas

"Hey, Sanders," Michael called out as he entered the outer office, proceeding directly to the inner room. "What're we doing today?"

The old man grunted. "Got a call that Riley's tires are comin' in this afternoon. He's gonna drop off the tractor some time before noon. I want Alex to change them out; don't know how much hands-on he's got with farming equipment but he's gonna learn." He stopped the hunt-and-peck typing and eyed Michael. "Speaking of, what time did you tell him for today?"

"Half past seven." He glanced at the wall clock: 07:40. He'd swung by Isobel's early to grab a phone then had breakfast in the Crashdown, setting it up while he ate. Honestly, he'd figured Alex would beat him here again.

"And didja give him an alarm clock?"

"Uh. No, actually." He'd had one in there for years, but hadn't replaced it when it died, because he used the alarm on his phone now. But Michael had Alex's phone.

Sanders shook his head. "Well, go get him, then, and be nice about it. Can't expect a man to hold to a time when he ain't got a clock."

"No, you can't," he agreed, feeling stupid as he walked across the yard to knock on the Airstream door.

"Shit," Alex swore at the thumping sound. "I _am_ late." He finished rolling the liner up his stump and grabbed his leg, fitting it on as he called, "Come in! I know you have a key." A mental key, anyway. He didn't mind Michael using his powers as long as he asked first, or as in this case, if Alex outright said he could. He'd had a lot of time to ponder the potential boundaries.

It took Michael a second to get what Alex was talking about, then he huffed a laugh and clicked the lock open, stepping into the trailer. "Hey, so I didn't realise that... you're not wearing pants," he blurted instead, confronted with Alex rummaging in a drawer, black boxer-briefs and nothing else clinging to his muscular form. 

"Overslept," Alex said tersely, getting his hand around a rolled pair of socks; the drawers were deeper than he'd thought and shoving the socks to the back maybe hadn't been the most efficient layout. No time to fix it now. He threw the balled fabric onto the bed and closed the drawer, folded T-shirt dangling over his forearm. "Just give me a minute and we can go." 

"No need to rush. I forgot there wasn't an alarm clock in here anymore." He couldn't help but watch as Alex thrust his hands through the armholes of the T-shirt and raised his arms over his head, black fabric sliding down until the top of his head poked through the neck opening and he pulled it down the rest of the way, hem meeting the waistband of his underwear, finally obscuring the expanse of bare skin sprinkled with dark hair. Michael resolutely fixed his gaze on the edge of the countertop in the kitchen, his throat gone dry. 

Noticing the cutaway look, a cynical smirk lifted one side of Alex's mouth. "Forgot. You haven't seen my leg before. Want a better look?"

"Not now, but, yes." He didn't sound affected, to himself anyway, and continued, "I'd like that. Detached, though? I, you're... it's a little awkward, is all."

"Of course." It hadn't occurred to Alex that he'd need to hide his body, even from Michael. A long-forgotten shame stained his cheeks. "My jeans are behind you. Throw them to me, please."

"Yeah." He grabbed the jeans then turned back, clutching them to his chest instead of releasing them to the outstretched hands. He knew, for once, what the sudden high colour signalled here, and it wasn't a feeling he'd ever wanted to inspire. "Alex. It isn't you. I'm not - I'm not used to unexpected nudity. I guess I got unused to it living with Nora. And your leg is just your leg. It's, uh," here he stumbled, uncertain how much to reveal. "Examining it while attached would be, very close, and where we were, uh, we were..." he trailed off.

"Intimate," Alex supplied, following the winding road of Michael's halting speech. That was another thing he hadn't considered, a memory he hadn't wanted to invoke; given how he'd ended things, he could only imagine thoughts of that afternoon were unwelcome. "Fair enough. I get it. My jeans?"

"Oh, yeah." He crumpled them and threw underhand, nice and slow and right into Alex's arms. Stupid to envy a piece of clothing. 

Alex nodded sharply and sat on the edge of the bed, donning socks and jeans in turn, standing to do up the fly. Yesterday had gone pretty well aside from him getting triggered the one time, but he hadn't even stepped outside yet and he was already fucking up left and right.

"Hey, did you eat yet?"

"No. I figured I could take a slice with me." He'd had one of the frozen dinners last night, enjoying the normalcy of it. And the pizza was good for grab and go.

That confirmed to Michael that 'overslept' actually meant 'just woke up', and he mentally factored that into his thoughts about the scheduling. "Okay, well, how about you eat here while I show you the phone? Most of it you'll be able to figure out on your own by poking around, but there's a couple things I want to show you."

"Fine." He put two slices on a plate and stuck it in the microwave for a minute, listening to the rustle of a plastic shopping bag as he retrieved a bottle of water. That sounded like more than just a phone. But the ding of the microwave interrupted and Alex carried his breakfast to the table, taking the stool opposite Michael that had been pulled out, ready. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. You had an iPod, right?"

"I did," he confirmed. "I guess it got sold or donated, whatever they did with the stuff in the house." He knew they'd sold the property and divvied up the family money; while Alex had been named in the will as an equal beneficiary, his brothers had contested it on the grounds that he'd been convicted of murdering Jesse Manes, and Alex didn't think it had taken long for a judge to agree. He supposed for some people, a quarter of a million dollars was worth committing a homicide. It had certainly featured in his prosecutor's argument as potential motive.

"I'm not sure. I think Michelle was able to save some things, a box or two, but I don't know what items or where she put them."

"She didn't say anything."

"Would you have wanted her to, night before last?"

"No," Alex sighed. "No. I'm not ready to go tripping down memory lane, and any clothes would have been useless."

Michael laughed. "No kidding! Anyway, there's a music service called Spotify now that works sort of like iTunes, with pre-made playlists, and you can make your own, too. I installed the app - that's short for application - but you'll have to sign up with your email, once you have one."

Short for application. Software, basically. Alex guessed that the short form had gotten popular because software had evolved. He would find out how in due course, apparently. "My Gmail should be active still. I was able to use it for submitting my coursework, under heavy supervision, and periodically after that so it didn't close down. How much is it?"

"The basic one is free, but you'll hear ads, like with radio." It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to add Alex to his Premium family plan; he and Nora didn't have six devices between them to use all the slots. But Michael didn't feel like the offer would be welcome, and he said nothing further.

"Radio style, I can live with." The mere idea of having music in his pocket again cheered him up. "Are there headphones too, or do I need to get some?"

"I've got headphones for you, yeah. And an external speaker dock that will charge the phone while you use it, plus all the cords and the phone manual." He pulled out the speaker to show Alex, then put it back in the bag, pushing the bag away. "The phone has a four digit passcode. I just used your birth year so you might want to change it." He placed the phone face up on the table. "I set up the junkyard WiFi network so you'll have full internet access when you're in range, which includes in here. I turned mobile data off, so you don't run up your data plan... and I'm losing you," he smiled ruefully. 

"A little," Alex admitted. "Is that like bandwidth?"

"Kind of. It's more, you know how you could only send X number of texts per month or billing cycle, and after that, it got really expensive? It's like that, only for internet."

"Okay, so, staying on the junkyard WiFi is like using the internet landline, yes? And mobile data is the cellphone network and it's expensive." He thought that was what Michael was saying.

"Yes," he grinned, pleased at the comprehension. "It's a prepaid phone now, so you'll need to top it up every month - there's info on how to do that in the bag. I paid the first month to get it up and running."

"I'll pay you back when I've got some money."

"Yeah, that's fine." Michael had expected him to say as much. He would have, in Alex's place. "I also put a bunch of numbers in: the cellphones for everyone I mentioned last night, plus the junkyard and the Wild Pony."

Alex exhaled forcefully, staring at the darkened screen. "I guess I'm a defacto gang member by dint of knowledge, huh?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered. The sense of being trapped that he could hear in Alex's voice, that was why Michael didn't want to tell him about the pair bond potential. It was exactly the same kind of imposition of external forces on his newly won freedom.

"Don't be. Everyone is safe, that's what matters." He glanced at Michael, shaking his head when it looked like he would protest. "Guerin, I told you before, I don't regret my choices. That hasn't changed."

"Including your more recent choices?" Michael asked on pure impulse. He didn’t mean coming back to Roswell, or taking the job at the junkyard; nothing so recent as that. No, he meant the choices in between the courtroom and the junkyard, the ones that had affected Michael so strongly. He wanted to retract it as soon as it had left his mouth but he didn't; he locked eyes with Alex instead, seeing his understanding of the true question there. 

It caught Alex off guard and his breath whooshed out, as if he'd taken a fist to the solar plexus. It felt like it. Did he regret breaking Michael's heart to save his own sanity? He couldn't. He wouldn't be here without that. But the guardedness in Michael's gaze threatened to break Alex now. Gently he asserted, "I stand by all of my decisions, Michael."

"That's what I thought," Michael nodded, swallowing. It didn't hurt as much as he'd expected; maybe he'd grown numb to it overnight because whatever else was true, Alex was here, out of prison. He pulled out the power cord and fit it to the phone Alex had yet to touch. "We should get going. I'll plug the phone in here and then it will have a full charge for you later. I just gave it enough juice to set it up."

"Thank you." He tried to infuse the words with as much gratitude as possible, for the help Michael was giving him and the grace he was showing him. For the present and the past. For whatever kind of friendship they might grow to have in the future.

Michael acknowledged him with a smile, neither cocksure nor vulnerable; wavering somewhere in between. Then he pushed back from the table and rose to his feet. "I'll see you outside." With that, he was gone.

Alex stared at the plugged in phone for a long moment. It was a tether to this new life. He suspected it would continue to inspire ambivalence, though that might fade as he got to grips with using it. If nothing else, Alex understood that he needed it.

What else he needed at this minute was to wash his plate, stick the bag of cords in a cupboard, and get his ass to work. The phone and everything else could wait.

[end chapter five]


	6. Everything Will Come Around in Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and, well, kind of part two to the previous chapter, so sweet isn't the best descriptor! Let's say, small but mighty. :D 
> 
> Warning for mention of homophobia/homophobic behaviour.  
> ~ Tas

Outside the Airstream, Michael checked the fire pit, unsurprised to see it hadn't been lit since he'd laid it yesterday. He had a feeling Alex had conked out and not left the trailer at all until now. Turning when the door banged, he offered Alex a perfunctory smile. "It's hard to come and go quietly with that."

"So I see." He locked the door, pressing his palm to its metallic surface after pocketing the key and taking a couple of deep breaths. Then he spun and fell into step with Michael. "Listen. Guerin. I'm sorry about earlier. I should have waited until I was dressed before inviting you in. I realise that now. I just," he paused as Michael stopped walking and faced him, listening. "I got used to an environment without privacy, where every minute is monitored by guards and cameras, even a 3:00 AM shit in a one-man cell. I didn't think about it and I should have."

Michael nodded. He wished he'd handled it better, too. But in lieu of explaining himself again, he said, "The first time I had dinner at the Evanses' house, Isobel spent the entire time trying to quietly coach me through the whole thing. 'Michael, use the salad fork.' The fuck's a salad fork?" He chuckled when Alex did. "I'd never met one before. So I get it."

"Thanks." Alex sighed. "I won't do that again, but ---"

"Alex. It's okay," and it was; his own stumble had been more of a problem and they'd gotten past it. "I might not understand everything about what your life has been like, but I do know where you were living it. And why you were there." The bite of guilt that never truly went away.

"I know you do. Do you also know it's not your fault?" He shook his head when Michael frowned and opened his mouth to speak. "It isn't your fault. It's not my fault, either, whatever the state records say." _And I would do it again in a heartbeat, if you were in danger._

Discerning nothing but sincerity, Michael finally sighed, nodding. "Yeah." He knew it wasn't that simple, that Alex had been convicted for more than incomplete truths, bigotry, and a public defender; darker reasons had contributed significantly to the outcome of the trial. But Alex didn't know that yet, and Michael wasn't sure when he would find the courage to tell him. Or, equally, when Alex might be ready to hear; Nora's caution against overwhelming him, especially in these first days of freedom, remained at the forefront of Michael's mind.

The rumble of a large, heavy vehicle curtailed the rest of Michael's thoughts and he smiled, starting for the driveway. "Gotta be Riley."

"Who's Riley?"

"Riley Glenn, one of our local farmers. You're going to change his tractor tires this afternoon. Or maybe tomorrow morning, depending on when the tires arrive."

"Holy shit," Alex breathed when the vehicle finally came into view. "They're like half my height."

"Yep, they're big tires. Don't worry about the size - it's a two person job to change them out. That's why we do it here," he reassured.

"Good. I'm pretty strong but I would struggle with one of those, I think." Thick rubber, too; they had to weigh a significant amount.

"You look it," Michael agreed absently, watching the lumbering tractor seemingly creep closer.

Alex glanced at him, one eyebrow raising. "I look like I'd struggle? Gee, thanks, Guerin."

"What? No," he hurriedly refuted. "I mean you look strong. Muscular, you know?" He kept his gaze on the tractor, not daring to meet Alex's eyes. "It suits you."

"Thanks," at a loss for anything else to say. Maybe... maybe it hadn't been his prosthetic leg Michael had been checking out earlier? No, that was stupid; Michael couldn't have failed to notice that Alex had bulked up since the last time they'd seen each other. They'd both changed and grown physically, and they'd known each other well enough from before to see those differences. It was a simple statement of fact, nothing more. But it was still nice to hear and he smiled a little as they waited for Riley.

The way the corners of Alex's mouth tipped up made Michael smile, too. With anyone else, he would have flirted, but it didn't feel appropriate to flirt with someone who'd made it clear he didn't want a relationship with Michael; that felt like withdrawn consent. But he could safely give friendly compliments, it seemed, and it might have been a while since Alex heard much positive about himself. Michael didn't know. He didn't know, but, he didn't need to. All Michael needed to know was that compliments were welcome.

"This far enough out of the way?" Riley hollered and Michael gave him a thumb's up. The engine cut, leaving a tingling silence in its wake as Riley climbed down and strode towards them. "Good to see you, Michael."

"You too, man. This is Sanders's new one, Alex. He's gonna cut his tractor teeth on your beauty."

They all laughed and Riley introduced himself to Alex, sticking his hand out.

Alex shook it, bracing himself mentally when he replied, "Good to meet you. I'm Alex Manes." He saw Riley's eyes widen, but the handshake didn't falter, merely came to a natural end.

"The Master Sergeant's youngest, huh? Well, you look capable enough and Michael here will train you up right."

"Michael's been great," he nodded, thrown by the lack of reaction once he'd been recognised.

"Need a ride back?" Michael asked.

"Nope, the wife should be along shortly in the car. Sanders said it could be tomorrow so she's taking advantage and dragging me into town," his smile belying the complaint.

"Alright, well, one of us will call you when it's done, then, and you and the missus have fun," Michael grinned.

"I surely will," Riley echoed the grin. He tipped his hat at the two of them and turned on his heel, ambling down the driveway towards the road.

"That was anticlimactic," Alex spoke up once Riley was definitely out of earshot. He'd been prepared for anything from a sneer to a swing but Riley had basically shrugged it off.

"He's good people. Also, what neither of us knew as kids and surprised the hell out of me at first, too, is that Jesse Manes was not popular with folks outside his social stratosphere. Most of the ranchers and the blue collar guys think he was an arrogant prick who got what was coming to him." Michael smirked at Alex's shocked expression. "Yeah, it really wasn't the corner I was looking to for support, either, but I was sure glad to have it."

"Huh." It made sense, and truthfully it took a load off to know that a large proportion of the junkyard's customer base wasn't going to hate him on principle. Alex huffed a laugh. "It's not what I was expecting once my name was out there, being treated like a human being."

Michael chuckled, too, then spoke seriously, "On that note, so you know, you're cleared to refuse service to anyone who mouths off at you. Tell Sanders if it happens, but he's got a zero tolerance policy and that's pretty well known now, so it shouldn't be a problem. But if it is, there's measures in place."

That was a grace Alex had not even thought to hope for. At the same time, it sounded like the kind of thing born of experience, and his mouth tightened. "Because of you?"

"Yeah." There was no reason to deny it. "It got... unpleasant, for a while, after you were arrested. Graffiti, mostly. I washed the truck a lot that summer."

"Fuck, Guerin, I'm sorry." There'd been no putting the cat back in the bag; small town gossip was like grassfire. 

"Not remotely your fault," he waved Alex off. "There was some increased racial tension, which probably would have calmed down, except - do you remember Kate Long and Jasmin Frederick?"

"Mean girl posse, weren't they?"

"That's them," he couldn't help the laugh, despite everything. "They were found dead of an overdose, both of them, and someone whipped things up because Rosa used to be their dealer. Even though Rosa was in Los Alamos at the time at rehab. So the tension spread to cover the Latinx community too. And with politics being what they are, that never really went away."

"I had no idea. Except for the politics part, I'm semi informed there. Got some news access. But the local stuff," he shook his head, feeling the swell of anger beneath his skin. "No one said anything."

"You're going to run into that a lot." Michael didn't sugarcoat it. "Stuff that people thought would upset you unnecessarily, or even that they assumed would be over by the time you got out."

"Like you never mentioning the Airstream."

"Yeah."

Alex scoffed, "And who the fuck gave _people_ the right to decide for me what to be upset about?" Every other aspect of his life had been controlled by the state. To have it confirmed his friends had similarly controlled the flow of information - other than alien stuff, which omissions he excused - pissed him off.

"No one," Michael said quietly. He understood the anger; getting shuffled between foster homes with no warning or explanation had induced a helpless rage that probably wasn't far off how this made Alex feel. "I can't speak for Jim or Maria, but I already told you my reasons were selfish as much as anything else. And I'm sure I could have done things better, but I was a teenager fumbling around in the dark, too."

"I know. I don't mean to take it out on you, it's just ---"

"I'm here?" he smiled wryly. "It's okay. I'm familiar with bone-deep fury you can't seem to shake." In fact, that fury had propelled him past the first few weeks after the breakup, allowing him to hyperfocus on his end of term studying; it had sustained him through the summer in Roswell. Only once he'd been back in Albuquerque, a short ways into his junior year, had anger ceded to sorrow. Hopefully Alex would be able to skip that part.

"You _are_ here," Alex said slowly, the flare of temper dissipating as curiosity blossomed. "I mean - I don't mean the junkyard, I mean here for me, specifically. It's been all of a day and you are treating me like... like a friend?" It wasn't the word he wanted but it was the best fit available.

"No, not friends. I mean, we can be friends, but that isn't," he paused, sucking in a breath. "It's, that mob membership you mentioned. They're my family, Alex. So are you." It was the only explanation Michael could give him. And it was the truth, if not all of it. "I'm not saying that to place any obligations on you, by the way. It's so you know. Where I'm coming from." He could feel Alex staring at him but he kept his eyes down, letting Alex process what he'd said without engaging.

Family wasn't a word either of them used lightly; Alex knew that. He remembered Michael struggling to name Max and Isobel as being under that umbrella in some of their early conversations in the Pen's visitation room. For him to have expanded his personal definition like that... something extraordinary must have taken place, more than simply locating his mother. Something to do with the legacy cover-up his father and Jim had been mixed up in, perhaps? Three distinct groups of people whose only point of overlap, so far as Alex knew, was himself. He'd learned that all these people knew, but to go from a knowledge circle to family? It didn't make sense and at length, he burst out, "Jesus, Guerin, what the hell happened?"

"Yesterday, you said it would be a compelling story for later. And it will be," Michael lifted his gaze to meet incredulous dark eyes. "Right now, I'm going to say that it's also long and complicated, and the situation was resolved, so it's... I'm going to ask you to be patient, please. Not what you wanted to hear, I'm sure, but ---"

"You're certain it's resolved? Everyone's safe?" he interrupted.

"I'm certain." 

"Okay," and Alex let out a long sigh, accepting he would have to trust Michael's judgement. There were more immediate concerns. Whatever incident it was that had brought disparate parties together in some significant way but was fully in the past, was something he could catch up on gradually. He acknowledged it made him anything but patient, but today had barely gotten underway, and yesterday had been so overwhelming he'd cried himself to sleep. It wasn't a sustainable pattern. "Okay, Guerin. I will wait, with imperfect grace, for the ground to get a little steadier beneath me before you get into the details."

"Thank you," he smiled, intensely grateful Alex was willing to trust him.

"You're welcome." God, that smile made Michael glow; Alex wanted to lean in and taste it. He had no business thinking that way, not after he'd given Michael up in such a painful manner, but he couldn't stop the thoughts. He could only control his behaviour. Glancing at the vehicle beside them, he said, "We can't do the tractor until the tires get here, so what's next?"

The practical question gave Michael some solid ground, too, and he chuckled. "I didn't actually look before coming to get you, so let's go check the workorders."

[end chapter six]


End file.
